


Hey Stranger

by ClothesBeam



Series: 100 Years Later [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, Polyamory, Romance, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5846863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClothesBeam/pseuds/ClothesBeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift and Ratchet return to Cybertron instead of the Lost Light, and Ratchet sees there’s still a need for his clinic in the Dead End. He trains Drift to be his assistant, they formally become conjunx endura, and things are fine and dandy for a century.</p><p>Then one night a winged stranger comes a-knocking, but he’s perhaps not that strange after all. Given the current unfolding of a politically charged mass murder plot, his timing couldn't be better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Drift groaned when he heard the all too familiar insistent knock at the front door. He’d only _just_ finished cycling down his systems for a defrag. Were actual hospitals still not publicly funded? Surely the clinic should only be operating during business hours by now…

Drift may have been doing this emergency medical support thing for nearly a century now, but Ratchet had been doing it in some capacity for all of his long life. Already awake and alert, he pushed Drift out of the berth where he landed in an unenthusiastic heap on the floor. He did like his new role as nurse/bodyguard/secretary/cleaner, but he still resented the wake up calls at the aft-port of dawn.

Ratchet simply smiled at him as he picked himself up off the floor. “Come on, go see who it is and I’ll get everything set up. Unless it’s really serious, you can get straight back to berth.”

Drift sighed but returned the smile gratefully, and made his way downstairs to the clinic area. He absently ran a finger over his green nursing trainee stripes as he headed for the front door. Ratchet moved to their general surgery to check his stock of supplies and find the datapad that stored most of the patient records.

Drift woke up the monitor in the entranceway to find the security camera showing a flight frame was standing outside their door, instinctively sticking to the shadows as most of the slum residents still did. He couldn’t make out anything obviously wrong with him, so was very cautious when he unlocked and opened the door a small way.

“Hello, do you need help?”

“Not medical help, no. I’m looking for someone who goes by the designation Drift.”

His hand clenched around the doorframe as his spark soared at the voice. No, it couldn’t be… He opened the door wide, letting the light from inside flood over both of them. There was no mistaking him from the front like this, and his face was exactly the same as it had been all those years ago.

“Wing?”

“Oh, you _are_ Drift!” he exclaimed, delighted. He took him in an embrace as he made his way through the open door. “I’ve been searching for you for years!”

“B-but I thought you’d died,” he spluttered, holding on tight in return nonetheless.

“Only temporarily,” he smiled mischievously. “My spark chamber was damaged severely, but the New Crystal City medics managed to keep me going in stasis until they’d invented a way to fix it. I’ve been searching for you ever since.”

“I can’t believe it,” Drift whispered, gripping his frame even tighter. Wing leaned down with a smouldering look in his optics, but Drift turned away when he realised Ratchet was preparing his room for no reason. “Ratchet, he’s not a patient! Just an old friend!”

“Better not be of the Decepticon variety! But seeing his obvious lack of manners it wouldn’t surprise… me,” he trailed off as he stood in the doorway to their clinic’s entranceway, absently polishing a handful of tool attachments.

Drift stepped out of the jet’s embrace quickly, and reluctantly, and explained. “Ratchet, this is Wing.” His frown indicated that he remembered the significance of that designation well. “Wing, this is my conjunx endura, Ratchet.”

Wing recovered as graciously as ever, quickly removing his hand from Drift’s waist. He stepped forward to formally shake Ratchet’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ratchet. I hope you’ve been taking good care of Drift.”

Ratchet narrowed his optics, but returned the gesture. It wasn’t exactly anger, but more… concern? “I find he mostly looks after himself.”

Wing glanced back at him with a twinkle in his optic. “Ah, well, that’s definitely an improvement.”

Drift sighed and kicked at his ankle half-heartedly, but Wing side-stepped it, smoothly guiding Ratchet along with him to ensure his foot wouldn’t hit the medic either. As usual, the graceful warrior’s movements looked more like a dance than any intent to harm.

“Let’s leave the sparring for later, shall we?” Wing released Ratchet and stepped back. He seemed to think over something before quickly coming to a decision. “I must apologise for coming to disturb you so early in the morning. I was rather excited about following my new lead, and I wasn’t expecting to actually find you. But you both must be busy, so shall I return at a more reasonable hour?”

“You don’t have anywhere to stay, do you?” Drift said quickly before Ratchet could kick him to the kerb.

“Not yet,” he admitted.

“Then you can kip in the spare room upstairs until we have free time for a discussion at a more reasonable hour,” Drift more demanded than offered.

Wing smiled gently, and part of Drift just wanted to grab him, kiss him and never let go of him again. “Well, my supplies are running low; it’s been a long time since I last returned to New Crystal City.”

Drift knew this was an indirect way of accepting his offer, but Ratchet didn’t seem to fully understand anyone who wasn’t as straightforward as he was. “All right, let me show you to the room.”

The look Ratchet gave him as they passed indicated there would be a lot of talking and not much recharge in his own immediate future. He tried to keep his poker face until Wing had been settled in the spare room, which was more of a storage room these days.

Ratchet moved up the hall into their room without another word to either of them. “I’m sorry,” Wing murmured as he picked his way between the boxes of medical supplies. He sat on the berth and glanced up at Drift with a reserved expression.

Drift just shook his head. “Don’t be, I’m so happy to see you again. Besides, there’s no way you could have known. Don’t worry about it.”

Wing just shrugged slightly as he glanced away. “As you said, we should all discuss this at a more reasonable hour. Rest well.”

“You too,” Drift replied, stepping back and allowing the door to slide shut.

He moved down the corridor, only to find Ratchet sitting on their berth with his arms folded. Drift waited for their door to close behind him before approaching.

“So,” Ratchet said as he settled down next to him. “That was unexpected.”

“Yeah,” Drift murmured, avoiding to crux of the problem. Even when he’d thought he was dead, Drift had talked about his time with Wing frequently and reverentially. Ratchet always listened respectfully as he got things off his chest, even when he didn’t agree with his spiritual ‘nonsense’. But maybe it was all something he should have shut up about decades ago.

“What happens from here?”

“I don’t know. I guess he’ll want to stay a while but he’ll make himself useful…” Drift trailed off as he looked up at Ratchet. His pained expression made him realise he wasn’t just asking about the next few days. “Ratchet? Nothing is going to change between us.”

“Why? You love each other, I can see it.”

“That as it may be,” Drift admitted, not bothering to lie about something so obvious. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

Ratchet remained silent, his look clearly disbelieving.

Drift couldn’t help but smile a little. “If you think you’ve been some kind of surrogate for Wing, you’re dead wrong. The two of you couldn’t be more different. I love you for different reasons.”

Ratchet turned to him more fully and leaned in, gently tilting his chin. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Drift held his face in his hands and pulled him forward, kissing deeply. “You won’t,” he assured softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambulances and paramedics are green where I live, ok :P


	2. Chapter 2

Wing slipped back into alertness as though he’d never cycled down and listened for the noise that had woken him. _“Frag it, one at a time I said!_ ”

Ah. Unless he was mistaken, that was Ratchet cursing at some patients. He made his way across the room silently and didn’t pause again until he had reached the bottom of the staircase. He couldn’t hear or sense Drift in the next room, which meant Ratchet must have wanted him to rest more. He’d looked dead tired a few hours ago, so he thought it might be better to offer his assistance instead of fetching the nursing trainee.

He entered the room confidently, assessing the situation quickly. Four mechs in bad repair, all clearly intoxicated. One was on a repair slab, and another two were moaning with pain or queasiness. The last was hooked up to a machine. Some kind of intravenous flush, Wing assumed.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked as he approached.

Ratchet didn’t look up, but simply waved one hand at the two who were groaning. “Make them shut up for five minutes,” he snapped, monitoring the machine’s readings carefully. “Your frame is trying to teach you a lesson about Syk consumption, maybe you should listen to it some time.”

Wing was perturbed by his coarse tone, but thought that perhaps yesterday’s interaction hadn’t gone as poorly as he’d thought if the doctor was always like this. He brought his hands down on each of the suffering mechs’ shoulders. They regarded him with suspicion.

“Now then, can’t you see the doctor is trying to work? The more you groan about it and distract him, the longer you’ll have to suffer.” Well, that had quietened them down, but he felt they perhaps found him threatening now. Especially since he wasn’t wearing any medic markings. “Why don’t you try focusing on something else?”

They stared at him blankly and one of them twitched. “Enough,” Ratchet interrupted, “you’re noisier than they are. Bring the next one over.” Ratchet lifted the mech he’d just finished working on and lay him on the recharge slab next to the other patient he’d already flushed.

Wing picked up the one that was twitching, guessing he was in worse condition than his friend. Perhaps he should have gone and woken Drift up after all… Wing watched Ratchet’s hands work quickly and gently. He could appreciate mastery of a skill, even if it was quite different to his own set.

Wing gave him space to work and returned to the final patient. “What… can I… focus on?” he managed to ask hoarsely.

“I find the movement of air in and out of your system is generally a good place to start,” he said softly, not wanting to get yelled at again for no reason. He could accept Ratchet’s personality was that way, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Drift wasn’t an angel either, but he’d toned it down a bit once they’d settled into New Crystal City life a bit better. “Get a regular cycle going.”

“All right…”

“It won’t be for much longer,” he assured, and then remained silent when Ratchet sighed over him loudly.

* * *

 

Drift awoke to an empty berth and frowned deeply. Not only that, but it was already nearly midday. He hadn’t kept up a constant recharge cycle this long in years. Blocking out others with work was one of Ratchet’s favourite methods of avoidance, but he wouldn’t forgo asking for his help if it was truly needed.

Still, it was with some caution and apprehension that he made his way downstairs. It wasn’t that he was afraid of facing Ratchet, it was just the difficult situation looming over them that made him wary. He realised he didn’t want to be made to choose, but he wasn’t sure how Ratchet would feel about a relationship between multiple partners. As for Wing, well, the Circle of Light wasn’t as prudish as everyone seemed to assume.

When Drift reached the bottom of the stairs he saw Wing assisting Ratchet with flushing the systems of an addict. They were both focused on their work intently, and now that Drift looked more carefully, he could see there was more than one patient in here today. He walked past the resting patients, automatically keeping an eye on their invents and looking for other signs of trouble.

By the time he reached Ratchet and Wing, they had finished the risky part of the procedure and were moving the last patient onto the remaining berth on the right-hand side of the general surgery. They had even more empty berths in the long stay rooms, still, but hopefully this was as many patients as they’d get for today.

Ratchet straightened once he was satisfied the patient was comfortable. He nodded to Wing. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad I could be of help,” Wing deflected the thanks as unnecessary, as was the way in New Crystal City. He glanced up when Drift approached and smiled gently. “Good afternoon, you’re looking much better.”

Drift’s brow lowered. “Why didn’t you wake me if you needed help?”

“Well, the first one was easy enough to deal with, then Wing came down when the rest of the group came along. There wasn’t really time to fetch you, and I thought you could use the rest more,” Ratchet explained calmly.

“Your aura is looking much healthier now,” Wing announced, but Drift didn’t miss the tug of a teasing smile at the corner of his mouth.

Ratchet didn’t bother muting his sigh of disdain as he moved away to rifle through one of the medical supply cabinets. “Stop tormenting my conjunx,” Drift replied, swatting the jet’s upper arm. It wasn’t that they weren’t observing energy flows, it was just that only crackpots would talk about colours and call it an ‘aura’. “But yours isn’t looking too bad either.”

Wing blocked his swat, and a slight change in the angle of his arm suddenly had him on the offensive. Drift didn’t fight back too hard since they were in the middle of the clinic, so Wing had him at his mercy in seconds.

Ratchet placed whatever he’d grabbed on the table by his nearest patient before picking up the datapad they were using for this month’s records. “Why don’t you two go blow off some steam while I take care of this?”

“No, I can do that Ratchet.” It was usually Drift’s job to do the initial entries while Ratchet cleaned everything up. He’d already neglected his work once today.

He shook his head. “I can handle it this time.”

Wing was dragging him away before he could protest much further. They closed the door that blocked the stairway to their living quarters off from the clinic visitors and made their way to the master berthroom. It was the most spacious room in the clinic, but that wasn’t saying much. “Now, I’m very interested to know, what have you learnt over the years?”

“A few things here and there,” Drift murmured as he made his way over to the storage cupboard. He reached into the back and withdrew the Great Sword. “But before that, I’ve been holding onto this for you.”

Wing’s optics lit up with joy as he took it from his hands. He smiled when it glowed softly, as if recognising him. “Thank you.” He put the sword down on the berth before his expression changed to something more of a smirk and he added, “But I believe we should stick to hand-to-hand for now.”

Drift nodded and adopted a modified version of the form Wing had taught, rather, beat into him, years ago. The jet circled him slowly, but Drift turned on his toe just as smoothly, not losing track of him for a moment.

“Not going to make the first move this time?” Wing asked innocently.

He’d never actually defeated Wing. _Something_ had to change. “I thought I might try something different,” he replied. A slight twitch in the corner of Wing’s mouth was the only warning he got.

Drift dodged, being rather more conservative with his movements than he’d ever been as Deadlock. Wing’s fist sailed past his face, but he recovered smoothly and used his momentum to step through. Drift had seen this before, and dashed forward before Wing could make his sharp turn and end up behind him. It would be game over if Wing grabbed him from behind.

He’d turned his head halfway to get a glimpse of his opponent and judge what he could do next, but Wing was already right behind him. Drift instinctively ducked, and the arm that was going to grab him flew over his head, barely grazing a finial. He shivered and leaped back, backing off again. “You’re getting better,” Wing said, letting him recover. “You know when to retreat now.”

The moment Drift opened his mouth to give a sharp reply, Wing advanced again. He ducked again when the same arm came out, and would have kicked himself for being predictable if Wing hadn’t already done it for him. He barely felt the controlled blow, but found himself pushed onto his aft with his back pressed into the wall after failing to recover from the distraction.

Drift automatically tapped the ground to signal he was done with the bout even though he was far from completely subdued. Wing stopped pressing his forearm into his chest and his hands became gentle again. He shifted close to Drift’s audial as he rested them on his shoulders instead. “But, you still allow others to misdirect and control you.”

“Not quite,” he murmured, gazing into Wing’s optics. “You’re one of two I’d let get away with that.”

Wing made a soft grunting sound as he caught his lips. It could have been desire, or a need to protect. Even both. Drift whimpered as Wing’s hands travelled over his torso, discovering where his sensitive wiring had been moved to compensate for various upgrades.

And while he wanted Wing so, _so_ badly, he was 100% sure this hadn’t been what Ratchet had meant when he’d told them to ‘go blow off some steam’. It was hard to articulate his thoughts with Wing’s mouth moving over his neck cables, but he managed in the end.

“Wing… not yet.”

Wing glanced up in confusion, but waited patiently for him to explain further.

“Ratchet should get his say in all… _this_ first, don’t you think?”

He glanced away and withdrew his hands. “Yes, you’re right. I apologise. I just missed you so much.” Wing fidgeted a little as he thought. “I feel almost foolish; we haven’t known each other for that long, after all. Yet it feels like only a few years since we lived together, for me.”

“And for most of that time I was a complete aft,” Drift added regretfully. “But you changed my life, and definitely for the better. I’m so glad we can have more time together.”

He clung to Wing as their lips met in a chaste kiss.

* * *

 

This was not good. This wasn’t good at all.

Ratchet had performed tests on the substances he’d removed from their patients three times now, and all of the results were identical. All four of them had shot up circuit boosters laced with E-38: one of the more toxic compounds known to Cybertronian kind. It was rare, and a lot more expensive than everything else in a booster combined. Whoever was selling these wasn’t turning a profit. They had to be maliciously targeting the remaining poverty-stricken citizens.

He stood angrily and kicked his chair across the room. Changing your lifestyle, integration into a new society… these things took _time_. While he’d never condone killing any group of beings off from a purely merciful standpoint, he now better understood the plight of those who ended up at the bottom of ‘civilised’ society. Drift’s experiences had been eye-opening for someone like him, who’d been lucky enough to be valuable and useful from day one.

But even Wing had done more for him than Ratchet ever had.

Ignoring his guilt, his mind focused on what needed to come next. They had to get the message about the deadly drugs out to everyone in the Dead End somehow. And pulling this substance apart for analysis would be a good training exercise for Drift…

Ratchet locked away any dangerous equipment and gave his patients a cursory glance before deciding he could leave the room without supervision for a few moments. He stomped up the stairs with his mind on bringing Drift back down them as soon as possible.

He slowed when he reached the corridor and heard his conjunx’s voice coming from their room. _“But you changed my life, and definitely for the better. I’m so glad we can have more time together.”_

Yes, he could perfectly understand why Drift had feelings for the other mech. It only concerned him because he was, essentially, everything Ratchet wasn’t. But, he told himself, there wasn’t time for petty drama like that right now.

When he reached the open doorway he saw Wing standing by the berth, adjusting the Great Sword on his back. The hilt seemed to be glowing softly in a way it never had when Drift wasn’t in mortal danger, but he was sure there was a reasonable explanation for that one. Drift stood against the wall, only turning to face him when he noticed the wary look in Wing’s optics.

The jet had probably heard him storming up the stairs. Given how snappish he’d been all morning, he couldn’t blame Wing for being uneasy. But while Ratchet was used to dealing with stress, it wasn’t usually in a constructive manner.

“What’s the matter, Ratchet?” Drift asked, knowing how to differentiate his general demeanour from actual anger and worry by now.

“I need you to put word out on the street that boosters are being spiked with a fatal compound. Then we need to get to work on figuring out who is sick enough to sell these things.”

Drift looked concerned, but Wing looked like he could be physically ill. “Who would do such a thing?” he asked from behind the hand he had put in front of his mouth.

“Well, there’s no profit to be made from lacing them with such a rare and deadly compound, so that gets rid of the usual drug dealers. My best guess is political motivations. The slum doesn’t seem to be going away on its own, so someone is trying to do a ‘clean up’ themselves.”

Drift made his way to the storage closet and pulled out the twin swords in their sheaths. It pained Ratchet to see him have to equip the weapons that had practically been part of his body during the war, and soon after it, but he knew it was prudent. “I’d better go check on my old dealers, too. Either one of them has been wiped out and had their stock taken, or someone’s being bribed to carry this crap.”

“Right, and I’ll work on the legal side. It’s likely Prowl has already had cases of bodies turning up. His demand for full autopsies might finally come in useful. Anyone would just assume they’re OD’ing without checking for the compound.”

“Should I go with you, Drift?” Wing asked, clearly seeking something constructive to do.

“Actually, it’ll be easier to get around if I go alone.” He didn’t need to say Wing didn’t have the right kind of street smarts. “Maybe you should get in contact with the New Crystal City medics and see if they’ve done any research on this substance?”

The answer clearly didn’t please him, but he nodded along anyway. “All right, I shall see who I can contact.”

They all moved downstairs together. Drift left for the streets without another word while Wing followed Ratchet over to the computer station in the cramped administration room.

“You should be able to contact anyone off world if you have the frequency,” Ratchet said, pointing out the computer that looked banged up on the outside, but actually had quite an advanced interior. Drift had bought it to stay in contact with Rodimus who was still gallivanting through the universe. “I’m going to make some local calls,” he added, picking up a small, shorter range device.

Wing seemed hesitant about using the tech, but he was programming in the frequency by the time Ratchet turned away. He selected the old Special Ops investigation office from his list, and a moment later he was met with only, “ _Prowl’ll be back in five, is it important?”_

Ratchet wasn’t sure which bad-mouthed Constructicon had picked up the office line, but he probably wouldn’t be very helpful alone.

“ _Yes_ it’s important! I’m reporting four attempted murders, so tell Prowl to get his aft down to the Dead End before it becomes five!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift reflects on his past, Ratchet and Wing discover how opposites attract, and Prowl's headache is still as big as ever.

Drift committed the information to his memory files as he handed over the painkillers. He had plenty of shanix to bribe a mech with, but at this level of society, more immediately useful things always got you something better. And that was how he found himself trading things they usually gave for free in the clinic. He consoled his conscience by reasoning that he would’ve given the mech what he needed whether he’d given him the information or not.

… What Ratchet and Wing didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

The mech made his way back down the alley and crawled over to his friend, who was half-lying in a turned over transport crate. Drift sighed to himself and called down the alleyway, “If he doesn’t get better in a few days, come down to the clinic and see the doctor!”

The mech waved over his shoulder before turning back to his friend. Drift shook his can of spray paint and began tagging the wall with a warning. No one down here could read much beyond the important things on their HUD, so he had to try and convey the message through the few basic symbols that were universal to the Dead End. He put the sign booster dealers usually used next to the symbol for danger.

He dropped his arm when he was done and sighed when he realised it just looked like a ‘drugs are bad’ sign. He also put up the hazard sign usually used on poisons, but he wasn’t sure if that knowledge was too specialised to be familiar to most of this population. As a nursing trainee he saw it every day, but he honestly couldn’t remember ever needing to know what it meant when he was on the street. It wasn’t as if _boosters_ were labelled correctly.

Drift moved on, heading toward the dealer’s place he’d just been told about. Apparently the original guy was dead, and someone else had picked up his old stock. All the information he had so far was validating Ratchet’s theory, and that was making him nervous. Hadn’t it been an incident similar to this that had caused him to end up at Ratchet’s clinic the first time?

At least he could be proud of how far he’d come since then.

When he arrived in the alley the dealer was meant to be operating out of at the moment, he wasn’t able to see anything or anyone. The dealer symbol was still up on the wall, but there was no one around. He belatedly realised that even if there was someone hiding here, he was would be avoided because of his nursing stripes and visible weapons.

He wasn’t sure what they could do in this case. Would they have to try a setup with _Wing_ as the customer? He tried not to laugh as he added the danger and hazard signs next to the dealer symbol. Wing was many things, but a good actor was not one of them. To him it would be like professional lying, and therefore completely distasteful. His usual demeanour alone was probably enough to unnerve them, even without the cleaver on his back.

Drift took a different route back to the clinic in an attempt to spread his message as far as possible without wasting too much time. That was something they didn’t have much of in this situation.

* * *

 

Ratchet sat at the desk in the cramped admin office, savagely biting into a rust stick as he tapped his foot impatiently. Who knew how long this fragged up thing had been going on for? How many had already died, and how many more would if they didn’t figure out what was going on _right now_?

He jumped when Wing’s hand rested on his shoulder from behind, and the rust stick was removed from his grip. “If you keep that up, Ratchet, I’m afraid you might hurt yourself.”

He folded his arms and tried to shift in a way that would dislodge his hand, but Wing was following his movements perfectly. “What’s it to you?”

“For some reason, Drift cares about you a lot, so it’s probably prudent that I start as well. Don’t you have any non-destructive ways of relieving your stress?”

Ratchet stared at the ceiling, trying not to lose his patience entirely. “I suppose you have plenty of ridiculous suggestions,” he snapped, pulling out another rust stick. Damn Rung had got him hooked on these things…

Wing didn’t miss a beat and replied flatly, “I could suck your spike.”

Ratchet did choke on the stick this time. He glared up at the jet, who simply patted him on the back to make sure nothing had gotten lodged in his intake. His serious expression didn’t waver as he pushed the rust stick he’d taken off Ratchet between his lips.

“Don’t you think Drift might have _something_ to say about that?”

“Something like, ‘great, now I don’t feel like I have to choose or let them take turns,’ I expect,” he replied, his hand stroking down Ratchet’s arm. He pushed the rest of the rust stick into his mouth and sucked the remnants off his finger.

Ratchet’s own hands twitched at that, and he caught himself staring. Wing’s recently freed hand trailed over Ratchet’s torso and came to rest on his pelvic plating.

“You don’t have to like me, Ratchet, but if you would tolerate me, it’d make Drift’s life a lot easier.” He shifted to stand in front of Ratchet, pressing a knee between his. “At bare minimum, put up with me in the berth.”

Ratchet’s legs parted further without bothering to wait for his input and Wing knelt between them. “Is now really the time for this?” he grumbled with only half his spark.

“You could go back to murdering rust sticks if you prefer, but as I recall, we were just waiting impatiently for something,” Wing replied as he ran his hands over Ratchet’s thighs.

Ratchet pursed his lips at that, but couldn’t argue. Prowl, or the team he sent out, would be more than two hours out. He shivered when Wing’s tongue ran over his interfacing panel and his hips bucked forward.

“Do you like it rough?” Wing asked, using his hands to continue massaging where his tongue had left off. “I know Drift doesn’t just as well as you would, but I have no aversion to being on the end of something forceful once in a while.”

It had been a long time since he’d had the chance to do anything rough. Now that the opportunity was being presented, his frame didn’t seem to want to let it go to waste. His interfacing panels moved aside and his spike emerged. Before he could become embarrassed by the suddenness of his reaction, Wing had swallowed him down to the base and was sucking contentedly, pressing and stroking his glossa against the underside of his spike.

Ratchet reached down to stroke various parts of his helm, but he didn’t find any particularly sensitive spots there, like Drift had. As Wing began to move back and forth along his spike, Ratchet simply rested his hand on the back of his head, for the moment. He squirmed when strong hands grabbed him by the pelvic unit and started pulling him forward to touch the back of the jet’s intake.

Ratchet sat up further so he could reach the wing panels tucked against his partner’s back. Wing shivered and Ratchet smiled, glad he’d found what he’d been looking for. But when Wing pulled back again, Ratchet sat up and let him go.

Wing cleared his vocaliser before looking up at him. “I said you can be as rough as you want. Though Drift refused to ever do it, I love having my face fucked.”

And Ratchet was sure they both knew why it would make Drift uncomfortable, given his history. He repositioned himself, still determined to make the experience as comfortable for both of them as possible. Wing spread oral lubricant across his lips while he waited, and reached down to stroke his own spike. Ratchet took a moment to appreciate the sight before moving closer again.

He nudged his spike against Wing’s mouth and the jet yielded to him immediately. He moved slowly and shallowly at first, making sure his new partner was actually all right. He didn’t know whether the Circle of Light were prudes, but it wouldn’t surprise him if Wing wasn’t as experienced as he acted.

That thought soon disappeared when Wing moved forward of his own accord in an attempt to take him deeper. Ratchet groaned quietly, not wanting to risk anyone in the ward hearing them through the thin walls, and picked up his pace. The jet moaned around his spike and his wings unfolded from his back, straining and shuddering.

Wing’s obvious arousal was what convinced him to go full throttle and shove his spike down his intake as hard as he could. Wing whimpered when he hit the sensors that triggered his swallow reflex, but his hand didn’t slow or falter as it desperately stroked at his own spike. Ratchet moaned quietly when he felt his pleasure crest, and his transfluid began spilling out of his spike.

He let Wing back off, but bit his lip when it caused the remainder of his fluids landed on Wing’s face. “Ratchet,” he groaned huskily. “That was, ah…” He dragged his fingers through the fluid and sucked them into his mouth.

Ratchet reached back down and worked his fingers into the joints of his still mostly folded out wings, making Wing squirm. But Ratchet almost immediately had to use one of his hands to muffle Wing’s high-pitched keening.

He pressed into Ratchet’s hand with his optics offlined and came over himself with a shudder.

Ratchet absently took some wipes out of the supply in his subspace and began to clean off the jet’s face. Wing’s optics followed the gentle movements of his hand for a moment before he looked up at him with vague surprise.

“What?” he asked. Was Wing just expecting to be discarded after something like that? “You don’t think I’m that much of an aft, do you?”

He glanced away and smiled gently. “Well, I had wondered.”

“Cheeky,” he grumbled, walloping him harmlessly over the back of the head.

A thought about what they were _supposed_ to be doing occurred to Ratchet as he pulled out another wipe and sat down on the floor so he could clean Wing’s torso. “So, did your friends have anything to say about E-38?”

Wing shook his head despondently. “Unfortunately not. Ever since Tyrest attacked, our archives have been scattered and incomplete, and many of our number are living on Luna-1 even now.” He sighed heavily, hesitating before continuing. “With my home in ruins, I’d hoped that I could find something familiar in Drift. But you just feel I’m just getting in the way, correct?”

Ratchet sighed and put the stained wipes down before reaching out to wrap an arm around his shoulders and turbines, and automatically running a diagnostics over his intake while he was there. “If you had have asked me that yesterday, I would’ve said yes. But I’m not completely sparkless.” The scan came up clear.

“I know,” Wing murmured, glancing at the readout with mild bemusement. “This place wouldn’t exist if you were.” He leaned into the embrace and wrapped both of his arms around him.

Ratchet rolled his optics. For someone so pointy, Wing was very tactile. “Not to mention, Drift likes you, _for whatever reason_ ,” he teased, echoing Wing’s words from earlier.

“I’m not trying to steal him away. Just… can’t you make room for me?” he implored.

Ratchet ran a hand over one of his turbines comfortingly. “I realise that now. But the whole concept doesn’t quite sit well with me.”

Before Wing could formulate a response, the office door swung open. They both started, but were relieved to find it was only Drift returning from his task on the streets. He smiled at them softly, but still looked troubled about something else.

“Things didn’t go well?” Ratchet asked concernedly.

“I don’t know how well the message will spread. I tagged around the usual dealer areas and spoke to some people, but I don’t know how much it’ll help.”

Ratchet stood, grumbling when his knees cracked, and made his way over to Drift. He rested a comforting hand on his arm. “Well, you’ve achieved more than either of us. We’re still waiting on the authorities to show up at our end.”

“I don’t know, you seem to have been quite busy,” Drift teased. Ratchet searched his expression carefully, but he truly seemed to be pleased. He still found the idea of multiple romantic partners strange, but at least they had come to some sort of compromise in terms of interfacing.

“Speaking of which, we should get cleaned up and refuel. They could arrive any time within the next hour.”

Drift nodded and moved to meet Ratchet’s kiss. As he moved to the door he made himself modest again. He thought he heard Wing mutter an, “I told you I could,” before they both laughed quietly. He was about to turn back and snap at them, but then pretended as if he hadn’t heard when Drift’s reply registered.

“I never thought I’d be so happy to hear an ‘I told you so’.”

* * *

 

Wing felt cleaner than he had in a long time, given how long he’d been travelling alone. He hadn’t been able to afford energon this good in a while, either. He knew it was miracle enough that he’d managed to survive a blow like that, but waking up in another time – another _world_ – was still difficult.

Sometimes he wondered about his decision to leave NCC behind him. If this was what they called law enforcement here, then…

Four of the fluorescent green Constructicons were talking at the same time. Ratchet looked like he was about to backhand the crane that was insulting the state of his medibay, and his patients. The mixer complained about being hungry while the excavator started saying he could improve the lighting with a short look at their electronics. One twice the size of a normal mech was jokingly complaining about discrimination because he couldn’t fit through the doorway. The last one remained on the street outside, quieter than the rest.

In the midst of this chaos, an actual police bot pushed the big one out the way so he could enter the clinic. He glared around the room with a crumpled brow. Eerily, all of them looked back at him and went quiet at the exact same time.

He stabbed over his shoulder with a thumb, and all of them left the room except the crane. The bulldozer scoffed from behind them and punched the excavator as he left the room. _“Idiot_.”

“Right, now explain,” the police bot said shortly. This was Prowl, Wing had to assume. He could sense some weird connection between him and the five Constructicons, but thought it would be better to ask about it at another time.

“These four came to my clinic high as kites, and they all had a valuable toxic substance in their systems,” Ratchet began, indicating the patients before them. “They’d have died if they hadn’t come to me when they did. I don’t want to know how many didn’t set foot in here when they felt the symptoms. Now I want to know who’s doing it so I never have to see it again.”

“What was the substance?” the crane asked. Given his earlier comments, he seemed to be a medic as well.

“E-38,” Ratchet replied gravely.

His optics widened. “Does that even exist in large enough quantities to be used as a widespread weapon?”

“Hah, there’s only one mech I can think of who would know for sure.”

“Swindle,” Prowl grumbled. “It’s about time we had a little ‘catch up’ anyway.”

“Wait, I wasn’t being serious. Didn’t Starscream…?”

“Officially, yes, but we let him keep his cover as long as he makes himself useful. No one is better connected than him. Besides, who’s the prime suspect in this case?”

Ratchet sighed as though he was pointing out the obvious. “Starscream, of course.”

Wing had never felt further out of his element than he was right now. He had no idea who any of these people were, other than Cybertron’s ruler, and that was by designation only.

“From this end, I know whose stock is being used,” Drift added. “We can use a setup to see who’s dealing at the street level. Their identity could provide a hint, or they could be bribed to talk. The only problem is, none of us are fit to play the role of customer.”

“Good, that’s something we can try right away. How much support do you think we’ll need?” Prowl asked, sweeping over them with his calculating optics.

“Well, assuming the double agent can fight and the both of us go,” he indicated himself and Wing, “probably not that much.”

Wing clasped his hands while Prowl scrutinised him. His optics were quickly drawn to the handle of the Great Sword. “Circle of Light?”

Wing nodded. “They won’t see me coming.”

“We have to assume the dealer has protection, especially if there’s only one.” Prowl seemed to come to a decision and stood. He spoke directly to the Constructicons who were waiting outside. “Long Haul, Mixmaster, stay with me. Bonecrusher, track down Swindle and let me know when you’ve got his new communications frequency. Scavenger, go back with Hook and help him however you can.”

The murmur of chatter picked up again as they organised themselves.

“We’ll meet back here when night falls. I need to make some calls,” Prowl added over his shoulder before they all left.

Wing was still frowning at the door even after it closed. Drift laughed and nudged him. “They’re a bit overwhelming.”

“They feel strange,” Wing replied absently. “Like they all share one spark.” Ratchet shot him a look, but didn’t say anything.

Drift looked surprised too, and shrugged. “I guess they do. All six of them make up a combiner. Or, used to? I’m not sure if they still can. No one’s seen Devastator for decades.”

Wing tilted his head. “I think they still can.” He didn’t know why he felt so unsettled by them. Perhaps it was just a remnant of the rowdy chaos they had caused. “Or… they should soon, before that energy burns them out.”

Ratchet shook his head as he moved to check up on the patients again. If they didn’t wake up soon, there would definitely be a cause for concern. “You want to play doctor too now, do you?”

“Don’t take your bad mood out on me,” he replied evenly.

Drift’s sigh as he collapsed into a chair silenced the retort Ratchet was going to give. “Don’t fight. Not now.”

They both mumbled an apology at the same time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swindle lives, Wing nearly doesn't, and Drift worries he can't do anything right.

Swindle stared at his communicator as it continued to go off. He hated talking to Prowl, especially with a guilty conscience. He shifted on the berth and winced when his old injury gave a twang. At least the chronic pain made it easier to make himself stay inside and undercover?

Well, not that it mattered anymore. Of course Starscream’s goons would have found him eventually.

Blurr entered the room and swapped the empty cube of energon for a new one, as he always did right before he opened up the bar in the afternoon. Even though he only went out the front for work, they wouldn’t get to talk for eight or so hours, so it was a nice chance for a chat.

“Hey, I’m about to open. You gonna answer that or not? Turn it off if not, it’s driving me crazy.”

“Sorry, just procrastinating talking to Prick-astator,” he said, finally picking up. “What?”

Blurr laughed silently before waving and backing out of the room, closing the door behind him. Swindle was disappointed to see him leave so soon, but he didn’t want to take this call while he was in the room anyway.

“I’m more inclined to ask: what the frag is wrong with you?”

Straight to business, as ever. He guessed he could appreciate that. “What? Why d’you always have to assume old Swindle is…”

“Because, you always _are_! Now, who are you supplying E-38 to, and should we be worried about it existing in large quantities somewhere?”

“I’m not supplying it to anyone, I just gave a tipoff for a handsome sum. Now, if _you_ are willing to part with some shanix, perhaps we can…”

“How about I generously only have you locked away for two and a half million years instead of five?” Prowl snapped, stopping him before his deal-seeking habits could go on.

“Yeah, well, I’d probably be safer locked away, anyway.” Prowl had that way of using silence to suck the truth out of the air, and he was working it right now. “Hurts me to admit it, but this isn’t a deal. I’m actually being blackmailed. Yeah, haha, irony. Whatever.”

“Who’s blackmailing you?” Prowl demanded, not laughing. “And with _what_?”

“No can say, buddy. That’s the whole point.” It occurred to him that now he was mostly on the straight and narrow, he might be able to get some kind of help from the cops. “As for what, well, I’ve become quite fond of Maccadam’s. It’d be a real shame if the proprietor had to rebuild yet again, or something worse happened to him…”

“We can put both you and Blurr into protective custody,” he reminded.

“That still involves uprooting our entire lives, and you can’t protect the bar. Besides, Blurr doesn’t know what’s going on,” he added.

There was a reason he generally didn’t answer calls until Blurr had started work for the evening. He’d hoped to one day be in a position to provide for his potential other half, but it was looking less and less likely that he ever would be able to.

The fact Blurr probably had more ex-celebrity shanix than he did ex-dodgy dealer ones was irrelevant.

Prowl sighed with frustration. “Swindle, people are dying. We’ve already discovered ten bodies, and Ratchet is seeing more with the symptoms every day. Even he’s not always successful when it comes to dealing with this substance. The longer you stay silent, the more people die, and the more reason I have to bring you into custody for withholding information.”

“Hah, like I care.” Well, he did, but not enough to risk Blurr’s life. Prowl was probably exaggerating in an attempt to pull on whatever spark-strings he had, anyway.

“You might have forgotten this Swindle, but Blurr is Autobot through and through, even if he doesn’t wear the badge anymore. Whatever would he think of you if he were to find out what was going on?”

Aaand there it was. Swindle knew a valid threat when he heard one. “Fine, fine! Just… give me time to talk to him first.”

“I will contact you again at 0600.”

“All right, I’ll try to catch him after close.” Swindle didn’t bother saying goodbye before hanging up. He picked up the datapad he normally used to organise the bar’s ledger at this time of day. He took a sip of the sweet energon Blurr knew he liked so much and got to work.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

 

Wing stood absolutely still, not even cycling a vent. Stillness was the most important part of remaining unseen, but to make things simpler, he and Drift had situated themselves on the roof of the rundown two-storey building. This meant they were above their target’s optic level.

Wing watched the Constructicon called Bonecrusher make his way over to the shady alleyway. This whole plan didn’t sit quite right with him, but they had to find out what was going on before more people were affected.

Bonecrusher stood by what Drift had identified as the ‘dealer danger’ marks. He didn’t have to wait very long for a mech to slide the rundown apartment’s window open. The bars on the outside of it were meant to protect him from break-ins and robberies, it seemed.

“What ya want?”

“Whatever you gave my buddy yesterday,” Bonecrusher replied lightly, inspecting his hand.

Just as the mech in the window was about to ask further questions, he suddenly jerked and scrabbled at a fuel line in his neck. Prowl had met his mark with a stasis inducer; a disabling shock was sent through his body.

The dealer fell to the floor. Drift tapped Wing’s shin from his kneeling position, needlessly giving him the signal to move on to the next part of the operation.

As expected, the dealer had goons at his disposal. They had started shooting from the windows of the floor above him. Bonecrusher launched himself away from the wall and dived around the corner while Prowl drew their fire with a few pot-shots of his own. Wing and Drift used the distraction and entered the building silently through the stairs that led to the roof, with the intent of taking the guards down from behind.

Wing led the way downstairs, having to recalibrate his optics to suit the brightness provided by the unreliable lighting strips inside the building. When Wing’s foot came down on the second last stair from the second floor landing, he felt something go click. The next thing he knew, Drift was jerking him backwards off his feet.

Before he could be dragged very far at all, an explosion bloomed in front of him, wiping out the bottom of the stairs, along with everything below his left knee. His audials were trying to reset, but they were failing.

Thankfully, he soon found his optics were fine when Drift wrenched his head back to yell at him. He still couldn’t hear anything, and Drift was looking more worried by the moment. He let himself fall all the way to the floor, stairs poking at him uncomfortably.

Everything shifted far too quickly as Drift swung him around so that his feet were above his head instead of below. That would ensure his energon loss was minimised, he supposed.

Drift knelt over him protectively and pressed one of his swords into Wing’s hand before pulling a blaster from his subspace. Wing’s audials finally reset, at least to a point where it sounded like he was hearing everything through a muffler.

The first goon cautiously poked his head around the corner to look up the stairwell. He was surprisingly professional for someone who was meant to be a slum thug, and his finish was perhaps a bit nicer than it should be under the painted on muck. And surely a tripwire explosive set with an undetectable laser was a bit beyond a slum-dweller’s budget?

Wing processed all of this in less than a second. He heard the gun above him fire, and the goon’s head exploded before he could withdraw back around the corner.

“Don’t kill them!” he tried to say, not sure if it had come out clearly. He thought he heard Drift reply. But before he could ask him to repeat himself, the second guy had made the same mistake as the first, and had got the same reward for it.

Drift glanced back down at him, reloading the gun with the swiftness and dexterity of Ratchet’s hands while operating. “I’m not going to!”

Drift’s full attention snapped back to the corridor below them when there was a heavy thud and a crunch of metal. Drift looked down his sights, waiting to identify the next mech stupid enough to look around the corner.

“Just take the bodies to Long Haul,” Prowl snapped at who Wing could only assume was Bonecrusher. “I’ll handle this.”

The footsteps stopped before they reached the corner. “Are you going to shoot me as well?”

Drift looked down as if only now realising he was preparing to fire on their ally. “No. I need your help to move Wing back to the clinic. He’s lost his leg and he’s probably concussed from the explosions.”

“They had explosive devices?” But his question was answered the moment he’d decided it was safe to look around the corner.

“Oddly advanced ones, but we can talk about that later.” Relief washed over Wing when he finally put the gun away. Drift took him in his arms and moved carefully down the stairs now.

Wing was oddly relieved to see the part of his leg that he had recently been separated from was still mostly intact.

* * *

 

Ratchet sterilised his hands when he’d finished looking their four patients over. Even though they seemed to have recovered from their exposure to E-38, they still didn’t want to wake up. For now he’d just moved them into a long stay room and hooked each of them up to IV support. He had tests running on their body fluids, but was almost certain they wouldn’t show anything.

It was a mystery he’d have to solve sooner than later.

His peace was interrupted by a ruckus at the front door. He left the room and closed the door to see the others had returned with the dealer and his guards. However, he hadn’t been expecting to see Wing dumped onto one of the mobile berths.

He knew there was going to be an issue when he saw the poorly concealed look of terror on Drift’s face. Ratchet approached them, helping to wheel Wing into a corner with the right equipment. But he could see there were more patients waiting who were closer to death but still salvageable, so knew he would have to instate triage.

“Drift, I need you to get Wing to stop bleeding so I have time to operate on those two’s brain modules before reattaching his leg. You can do that, right?” He knew his usual coarse tone wouldn’t work here. Drift was hesitating because he was worried he’d mess up on someone he cared so much about.

It was a psychological barrier that had taken even him a four million year civil war to overcome, so he had to cut the kid some slack. “The clamps are there.” He turned to Wing. “You’re conscious enough to help him, aren’t you?”

Wing nodded and hesitantly moved to prop himself up against the wall so he could reach his knee as well. Ratchet reached to help him up, quickly determining that this position would be fine because it shouldn’t take long to block his major fuel lines.

“Just start with the biggest ones first. Don’t worry about anything going wrong, I’ll be here the whole time, just across the room.” He wouldn’t have let Drift in the medibay at all if he wasn’t confident in his skills. They both knew that in reality, Ratchet wouldn’t have time to do squat while working on such a delicate procedure, but Drift just nodded and got to work anyway.

Prowl and Bonecrusher stood awkwardly in the middle of the clinic, not knowing where they should take the patient. “Operating stations,” he said shortly, pointing them in the right direction.

He cursed to himself when he saw both of the patients were just as bad as each other. “Which of you idiots did this?” he vented as he prepared for surgery. The dark green mech was closer, so that was who he started with.

“Drift,” Prowl replied, wisely stepping out of the way.

Given how shot his confidence was at the moment, Ratchet hoped he hadn’t heard their exchange. They could have a _talk_ about it later. “See the machine’s display? Tell me immediately if the spark strength drops below 30,” he said, pointing out the patient that would have to wait his turn.

He didn’t bother waiting to see if they had understood or not, most of his processor being swamped by cascades of surgery protocol. This kind of thing would normally take hours, but he had an hour to get both of them stable, at most.

It was time to live up to his reputation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a mess, but I had to cut this monster in half somewhere!  
> Also, does the fandom hide its Blurr/Swindle somewhere secret, or does it just not exist???


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, porn with plot, that’s totally what this fic is. *Turns away and continues writing fluff instead of the threesome everyone is here for*  
> (But really, I'll put it in the next chapter for sure)

Swindle was still trying to plan the conversation in his head near midnight, even as Blurr’s light footsteps were coming down the hall. He offlined his optics for a moment and waited for him to get a bit closer before calling out, “Blurr, can I talk to you for a sec?”

The speedsters usual fast pace picked up and the old manual door swooshed open. “Everything all right? You need me to call the doctor?”

“It’s nothing like that,” he replied hurriedly, not missing Blurr’s concerned expression. Usually he avoided the repercussions of his lies, or absence-of-truths, as he preferred to call them. Either way, he still wasn’t used to taking responsibility for them. “There’s trouble of the murdery kind, and I somehow got involved in it. Both of us involved in it,” he corrected his automatic attempt to save face through a white lie.

“Somehow?” Blurr asked sceptically, taking a seat on the edge of the berth nonetheless.

“Well, there’s this guy who’s hoarding a deadly compound, and then there’s this other guy who’s terrified of being kicked out of office if he doesn’t solve the poverty problem in Rodion…”

“And the latter gave you an offer you couldn’t refuse?” Blurr asked blandly.

Swindle was mildly offended, but, well, it wasn’t as if he didn’t live up to his name. “It might surprise you, but genocide puts a bad taste in my mouth,” he replied sarcastically. “ _The latter_ said he would bomb this place if I didn’t connect them.”

Blurr groaned and smacked his forehead. Swindle only understood the next thing he said because it was his own name. _“Sndl!”_ He dragged the hand over his faceplate before trying again. “There are more important things!”

Swindle frowned and rested his hand on Blurr’s forearm. “What that means, in plain language, is that you might ‘accidentally’ get caught up in the blast. It could easily be passed off as a terrorist attack. You know as well as me how important this place is to everyone.”

“Do you really think they would actually be a threat to me? Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“You think you can outrun a block-wide explosion?” Swindle knew he’d asked the wrong question when his eyes optics seemed to glow at the thought of the challenge. He hadn’t been trying to challenge his pride! “Hit the brakes there, maniac,” he grumbled.

“So, am I to understand that you went along with it without saying anything because you were worried about me?” He leaned forward, and Swindle found it difficult to make an excuse about his shelter and fuel being here as well.

“Yeah,” he admitted, looking at where his hand was resting on Blurr’s arm.

“While I appreciate it,” he leaned even closer, and then his expression suddenly dropped into a frown, “don’t ever do something this stupid again, you glitch head!”

Swindle glanced up and met his optics with a smirk. “Guess we’ll be shutting up shop and fleeing to the police like good little witnesses in the morning. You’d better, well, grab anything important to you while you have the chance, though.”

Blurr smiled confidently. “I’ve got it right here, don’t worry about that.”

Swindle had never been so embarrassed in his life.

* * *

 

Scavenger hummed to himself as he carefully leaned two of the datapads on Prowl’s desk against each other so they would stand up. When he managed to get the edges to stop sliding around, he picked up another two and made another triangle right next to them. He did it again, letting his construction program calculate whether or not he could manage a second storey.

The output was basically a ‘no’, but he decided to go for it anyway. He poked his glossa out in concentration as he made a new flat layer. Then he stood up to give himself a better angle for working on the next level. He was _supposed_ to be helping Hook eliminate useless data from his search on the poison stuff that was being fed to people, but he’d already frustrated the medic to the point of being kicked out of his office for today.

He put his hands on his hips proudly when the second layer had been completed, and ignored the _STRUCTURE: CRITICAL_ warning on his HUD. Of course the thing wasn’t going to stay up _forever_ … So he may as well try to complete the thing by putting on a third layer, right?

He knelt on the chair, bringing up the datapad that would be used as the base for the final layer. He jumped when Prowl suddenly burst through the door. Luckily, his hand hadn’t jerked into the tower of datapads, so his structure was still standing. But boy did Prowl look pissed.

Well, more than usual. “What’s up, boss-?”

But before he could finish, Prowl had brought his fists down on the table, causing his precarious structure to collapse. He watched Prowl’s hands switch to the underside of the desk and immediately laid his weight across it, disregarding the pile of datapads. It was at times like these he was thankful that he was, at least, bigger and stronger than Prowl.

“What’s wrong?” he tried again, staring up at the mech who was now glaring down at him sourly.

He removed his hands from the table, but Scavenger didn’t quite trust him. He tried to look natural and rested his elbows on the table, holding his head up. Leaned over the back of a chair like this he probably looked completely ridiculous, but he could live with that.

Prowl released a vent of hot air out of his nose before replying. This couldn’t be good.

“Our dear dealer and his goons, who were so graciously saved by our legendary medic, have been released on _bail_. Our suspects, _for politically charged murder_ , have been release _on_ BAIL!”

“But, how?” he asked, forgetting about the stupid position he was standing in. When he didn’t get an immediate answer, he poked at the bond, but soon regretted it. Essentially, Prowl didn’t know why, and he was livid. Scavenger winced from the force of his feelings.

“I told you to stop it with the bond already,” he muttered, withdrawing into himself once again. “The temptation to combine is too strong.”

Scavenger jutted out his bottom lip. “But we miss you. Can’t we just run off into the wilderness for a while? Even if we lose it, there won’t be anyone around to get hurt.”

“The law says no more combining.”

Scavenger finally collected himself into a proper sitting position. “Well that’s fine for them that have a choice in the matter. They _have_ to make an exception for the weird prototype, surely!”

Prowl was quiet for a while before he finally relaxed enough to sit on the desk. “I don’t exactly have many legislator friends. Or many allies at all. You know I’ve been shrapnel in Starscream’s side since the ban on bots who claim a faction was lifted. He has a personal interest in making me snap, so it’ll probably take another century for a reform to go through.”

“Well, isn’t it better to get the process started before snapping? Wouldn’t it improve your defence?”

Prowl regarded him for a while. So long, in fact, that Scavenger grew worried that some form of retribution was coming. Before he could try to apologise for whatever he’d said wrong, Prowl’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”

“Wow, thanks,” Scavenger muttered bitterly.

A rare, subtle smile lit the police bot’s face, and perhaps the insult didn’t sting so much after all. Prowl turned to his communicator. “Now then,” he began, optics narrowing again, “time to give the conman a call.”

* * *

 

Wing woke to sunlight filtering through a grimy window, and soon found he was still downstairs in the clinic. His fuel levels were uncomfortably low, indicating he’d been out for at least a day. He frowned when he heard quiet talking coming from the administration room.

“Well, _why_ did you have to shoot them in the head?”

This was something he probably shouldn’t listen in on. But he lay there and did so anyway. It involved him, after all, right?

“They had advanced explosives! If they were as well-trained as me, we might not have made it out alive, otherwise!”

“That’s no reason to lose your head and put two lives at risk. If I hadn’t been around, I don’t even want to think about what might’ve happened…”

“Well it’s simple, isn’t it? All I’ve ever been good for is hurting people for the sake of someone else’s ends. What am I even doing here?”

“Drift, that isn’t what I said and you know it! Get back here!” Wing glanced away from the door when it sounded like footsteps were approaching it. “Please.”

Everything went silent at the quiet plea. It took a long time for them to start talking again, but Wing didn’t want to interfere in such an important conversation by getting up to have a look.

“First, you’ve only been training for a century, and you’ve had absolutely no formal education. You aren’t useless, you’re just inexperienced. Caring for loved ones isn’t always easy, especially if it’s a life or death surgery. So don’t sell yourself short.

“Second, if you want to wear those stripes, you need to prioritise life. The only time you should put anyone’s life at risk is if they’re trying to do you in. Being a medic, they’d be an absolute fool to harm you.”

“We _were_ in danger! In danger of another Gasket incident!”

Wing had a vague recollection of what he was talking about, and it seemed to be enough to make Ratchet understand. “All right, all right, you’re the soldier. I trust your judgement, but can’t you at least disable people in a way that’s easier to fix next time?”

Wing released the tension he hadn’t been aware he’d been storing in his frame. That almost sounded like a joke.

“I suppose I can manage something,” Drift mumbled, but his tone seemed to have lightened as well.

Wing rolled his optics at the following silence, almost certain about what they were doing behind the closed door. His attention finally turned to the part of his leg that had had to be reattached. He bent it slightly without any issues, and brought it closer to his face to inspect the welds. They were practically invisible, and his leg perfectly matched the other. Ratchet must have put hours of work into this. He guiltily recalled that he’d gone under at some point during the procedure.

Well, he’d just have to make it up to him…

Since he was in position anyway, Wing wrapped his arms around his knee and pulled it into his chest, enjoying the stretch in his lower back. He straightened his leg completely before putting it back down, pleased that he might be able to start walking again today after all. He did the same on the other side just as the door to the office opened.

Drift beamed at him and moved in what he could only assume was the direction of their energon store. Ratchet approached him and he put his knee down. The medic ran a scan over his entire leg and nodded to himself. “Do you want to try walking on it today?”

“Yes,” Wing replied, already sitting up. Ratchet manoeuvred himself under his arm so Wing could use him as a crutch while standing, if needed. It turned out it wasn’t needed in the slightest, and Wing was soon back on his own two pedes, supporting his own weight. “Something feels different,” he said, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He’d never felt more centred in his life.

“Your left leg has had a similar injury before, right? Plating a few grades heavier than the rest of you was used to patch it up, so I thought I’d change it while I had something appropriate on hand. You’ll notice it more while you’re flying, so be careful the first time you take off.” His optics were focused on his leg’s position and movements. “Of course, if you’re too used to it being the way it was, I can put it back if you prefer. Though I wouldn’t recommend it in the long term.”

Wing shook his head. “It feels great to be properly balanced. It’ll take me a while to stop subconsciously compensating, but it shouldn’t take long.” Drift came back with a few cubes in hand, looking relieved. Wing turned back as he took one, standing next to Drift now. “Thank you.” It was directed at both of them.

“It’s what I do,” Ratchet replied nonchalantly. “Now, I’d better see if I can work out what’s going on with the other four.”

Wing just nodded as he bustled past. Drift’s hand touched his elbow as he spoke. “I’m so relieved you’re all right.”

Wing bent down and kissed him. “Of course I’m all right. I’ll try to be more careful next time, but I’m not used to dealing with things like hidden explosives,” he said ruefully.

“Well, I’d thought we’d moved beyond that too,” Drift replied with a shrug. “I’d better make sure Ratchet has _some_ fuel today,” he added, excusing himself from the room. Wing nodded and sat back on the recharge slab, content to wait for now.


	6. Chapter 6

Drift woke suddenly, only to find himself pressed into Ratchet’s side. It was still dark out, and for once the medic was sleeping peacefully. He glanced up at their alert system on the other wall, which would go off if a big enough change was sensed in their patients’ vitals. The screen was clear, meaning he’d just woken up of his own accord this time.

He remembered going to berth in a mood after hearing about the release of their prisoners from a surprisingly calm Prowl. Deciding to get some rest while they could, he and Ratchet had set up an alert before going upstairs. Wing had used the poor excuse that they should keep an eye on his leg, and Ratchet hadn’t told him to get out of the berth before falling into recharge. Drift raised his head to glance behind him, and saw Wing was still there, lying on his side and facing away from them.

As Drift turned to settle back into position, he saw Ratchet had woken in response to his movements. “Oh, sorry.”

“Everything ok?” he murmured, ignoring the apology.

“I don’t know, I just can’t stop thinking about how horrible all of this is. I thought we’d finally achieved something, and yet… I don’t feel like I’m doing enough to stop it.”

“I know how you feel, but we just need to be patient. Prowl will interrogate Swindle, and our patients will wake up soon, so we can ask them some questions too. We haven’t hit a wall just yet,” Ratchet reminded quietly.

Drift sighed. “You can sit there and be as reasonable as you want, but that’s not going to stop my processor from running in circles.”

Ratchet turned onto his side so they could look at each other properly. He lay his hand on the segment of Drift’s helm that covered his cheek and stroked his thumb along the ridge under his optic.

Drift took hold of his other hand in both of his and threaded their fingers together. He automatically began moving them in a massaging motion, and didn’t really pay attention to what he was doing until he’d noticed the rate of Ratchet’s vents had increased.

“Oh, um, is this ok?”

Ratchet nodded slightly, and tightened his grip when Drift leaned in to kiss him. Knowing Ratchet’s preferences, he soon cut to the chase and brushed his lips over the tip of his index finger. The medic let out a muffled groan as Drift switched his grip so he could get his first two fingers into his mouth.

Drift pressed his legs together when Ratchet lowered his other hand to palm at his interfacing panel. He hadn’t exactly intended for things to escalate like this, but didn’t want to stop now that they were. His faceplate heated up at the thought that Wing could wake at any time.

His attention returned to Ratchet when he withdrew his fingers from his mouth and pushed in the ones on his other hand instead. “Open up for me,” he murmured as stroked down Drift’s sides and over his hip. Ratchet glanced down at the interfacing panel he’d just vacated meaningfully.

Drift did so, making sure to lave his hand with ample oral lubricant. Ratchet’s hands always got him so hot, what with all the nights of pleasure they had been responsible for. He opened his legs again as the first light touches landed on his external sensors. Ratchet returned to kissing him, and Drift felt himself slowly heating up. It wasn’t long before his spike emerged, also seeking attention.

Ratchet’s fingers slid around the entrance to his valve, noting how slick he had become. He smirked at him before sliding down the berth and moving into a position from which he could easily take his spike into his mouth. As Ratchet ran his glossa up the length of his spike, Drift clenched his valve around his fingers in appreciation.

Ratchet groaned against him, and started sliding his fingers in and out of him, for Drift’s benefit as much as his own. His thumb was dragged over his outer sensors as a consequence, and Ratchet bent down to take his spike properly. Drift whimpered and slowly turned to lie on his back, hoping to make things easier. In response, Ratchet took him deeper into his mouth.

The clearing of a vocaliser made both of them look up suddenly. Wing had turned over and was clearly trying to not laugh out loud. “Should I, uh, leave?”

Drift glanced at Ratchet. He obviously didn’t want him to go, but he wasn’t sure what was going on between the two of them. Ratchet glanced away before answering. “You can do whatever you want.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question, but I’ll take it to mean I can stay.”

Ratchet returned to his ministrations, using them as an excuse to not answer.

“Now then, where did we get up to a few days ago?” Wing asked with a smirk. “Something like this, right?” he added as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Drift’s.

He offlined his optics and groaned into Wing’s mouth as Ratchet began moving his thumb in firm, circular motions over his external sensors. Wing pulled back and smiled at him gently, in that way that meant some harmless teasing was coming up. “Oh, you’re right, it was more like this.”

He worked his fingers against the sensitive wiring in Drift’s chest and pressed his mouth over sensitive neck cables. Drift felt his hips rise of their own accord as he was spoilt by the two mechs who knew his frame best. He felt like a helpless mess.

He glanced down when Wing pulled back with a thoughtful look. He waited for him to speak, as it looked like he was about to. “I’m wondering, how do you feel about double penetration? Would that be too much?”

Drift’s faceplate warmed at the thought. Being able to use his valve to please both of his lovers at the same time would just be…

“I want to try it.”

“It could take a few sessions of stretching before we can…” Wing trailed off when he noticed the expression on Ratchet’s face, now that his mouth wasn’t wrapped around Drift’s spike.

The medic quickly explained his amusement. “Drift can take my entire fist. You’ll probably be fine with the right preparation, right?”

Wing looked surprised but Drift just shrugged. He didn’t like giving and receiving pain and discomfort thanks to having to put up with one too many unsavoury mechs, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t adventurous. “Ratchet knows more about my frame than I do. He’d never cause me more than a little discomfort. And besides, his hands…”

“Oh, of course. I had wondered,” he murmured as he stared at the hand that had reached under Drift’s arching back to cup the other side of his aft a short time ago.

Ratchet sat up on his knees between Drift’s legs as he reached down to touch his valve with both of his hands. He withdrew the two fingers already in there and added a third before pushing them back in. Drift focused on relaxing his valve walls as much as possible, despite the intrusive thoughts of the three of them pressed together in ecstasy.

He spread his legs further apart and watched Ratchet get revved up just from preparing him. He carefully slid in a finger from his other hand before looking him in the optic. “Is that all right?”

“I’m fine,” he assured.

He watched Wing glance down at what Ratchet was doing, just as he felt yet another finger squeeze inside of him. Wing settled back down next to him, resting a hand on his chassis. “Hmm, you’re quite the trooper.”

“Shut up,” he muttered without venom, even as Wing threaded his fingers between his. Drift reached around him with his other hand so he could stroke at the wing joints closest to his back.

Wing shuddered at his touch, shifting so that his fingers could stimulate him more easily. While Wing pressed himself into his side, Ratchet withdrew his fingers, almost looking more heated up than Drift was. “You all right there, Ratchet?”

“Fine,” he grunted, but didn’t wipe his hands on anything. Drift felt he could safely assume that he didn’t want to risk sensitising them further and overloading before they had even started.

He sat up and splayed his knees either side of Ratchet’s, smirking when he automatically moved his sensitised and fluid covered hands away from him. Drift grabbed one of his shoulders for balance, and used his other hand to guide Ratchet’s spike into him as he lowered himself onto him.

Ratchet inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching. Drift felt strong hands on his hips, helping him balance. He glanced back to see Wing moving across the berth toward them. Ratchet seemed to have settled a little by the time Wing began grinding against Drift’s aft.

Drift tried to move himself along Ratchet’s spike experimentally, but found it awkward to balance himself in this position. He ended up leaning into the medic’s sturdy frame, letting his chin rest on his shoulder, the side of his face pressed into his neck. “Aren’t you ready yet, Wing?”

Wing squeezed his hips reproachfully. “Give me a break, you two were fondling each other before I even woke up,” he grumbled good-naturedly.

Before Drift could deliver a smart reply, another spike was pressing into his tight confines. Drift gasped, leaning back a little, but not having far to go given how close the three of them were. He felt Wing’s hand wander away from his hip, up his back, and watched it rest on Ratchet’s jaw. Drift watched them kiss from the corner of his optic and felt warmth swell in both his spark and his interfacing array.

It wasn’t just hot, it was also a relief that they were willing to put up with each other at least for his sake. And perhaps, given enough time… But Drift soon returned to the moment, not wanting to miss out because he’d been too busy dwelling on what could be.

The two of them experimented for a moment with thrusting into his valve. He whimpered when they both pushed into him at the same time, the feeling overwhelming him. Drift clung to Ratchet helplessly when they both responded to his feedback and maintained the perfect rhythm.

“I really need to look into these hands of yours,” Wing murmured, and Drift felt Ratchet’s shudder in response. “Mm, tastes like Drift,” he added a moment later, giving Drift’s hip a squeeze at the mention of his designation.

Ratchet groaned deep in his chassis and Drift guessed that Wing had gone back to licking his fingers. Ratchet’s thrusts became more erratic, and Drift’s thighs squeezed against the knees separating them at the increased intensity. He was vaguely surprised when he felt the hot spurt of transfluid against the walls of his valve a moment later.

Drift released his death grip on Ratchet as he pulled away. Wing steadied him from behind, letting Ratchet withdraw his softening spike. Drift took a moment to adjust, gripping Wing’s forearms tightly. He looked Ratchet over, who looked tired but well-satisfied. Drift’s optics were drawn to his conjunx’s still leaking valve.

Ratchet seemed to read his mind. “Maybe another time, Drift.” He noticed Ratchet’s hands were still spread in a way that would prevent his fingers from touching. Wing had done well if he was feeling that over sensitised.

Drift felt Wing’s fingers thread between his own. His mouth rested by one of his audials. “Now, are you going to let me turn us around a bit before pitching you forward so Ratchet can watch as I frag your sweet valve?”

Drift shivered at the image he conjured. He pushed his hips back against him needily.

Wing turned them and pushed him down in a few swift movements, as promised, holding his hands down on either side of his head lightly. “Primus, I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured.

“Not as much as I’ve missed you,” Drift replied. He knew it sounded silly, but it was true. Wing had been in stasis for most of the time they’d been apart, after all. And until not long ago, he’d been presumed dead.

Wing kissed his cheek before shifting to find a better angle. Drift gasped as he began to thrust hard and fast.

“Do you remember what I taught you about focusing your energy in your centre?” Drift glanced back as best he could, curious. “Why don’t you try lowering the focal point?”

Immediately catching on to his intent, Drift did so, but it was difficult to concentrate with the bursts of warm pleasure running through him. “I-I can’t…” he murmured behind grit dentae.

“It’s ok, that’s good,” Wing murmured comfortingly. “Too much too fast and you’ll hurt yourself.” He reached a hand down to stroke over Drift’s external sensors and spike as he continued steadily thrusting.

Their bodies moved against each other with every thrust, delicious friction and the warmth of gathered energy pushing them closer to the edge. Drift’s pleasure peaked, and his valve clenched around Wing’s spike.

The energy they had stored finally collided and sparks flew between them as they were both sent over the edge again. Drift cried out at the intensity of the overloads that may or may not have been one. They both stilled, venting cycles heavy now.

Wing rolled off of him, giving their overheated frames more of a chance to cool down. Ratchet looked perturbed, and seemed about ready to pull out his diagnosis scanner in concern.

“There’s no need for that,” Wing assured, holding up his hand peaceably. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if it was dangerous, would I?”

“Just because you wouldn’t intentionally hurt him doesn’t mean you can’t do anything stupid,” Ratchet muttered. He gave up on the scan a moment later, seeming to not see anything wrong with his optics alone.

Drift and Wing felt like moving again a few moments later, and arranged themselves on the berth in a normal resting position. Ratchet moved close to Drift’s side. He smiled and flung an arm around the medic.

“Ratchet,” he mumbled. “I’m glad we all trust each other enough to share a berth. But, what would you think if Wing were to stay with us permanently?”

Ratchet paused at the turn in their conversation, but seemed to immediately understand what he was really asking. “I’ve never thought of love in the way you describe it. Have you ever heard of someone having more than one conjunx endura?”

Wing let out a short laugh. “You can’t tell me Prowl and his Constructicons aren’t all bound to each other, even if not officially.”

“Well, they don’t count,” Drift replied. “I’m pretty sure Prowl just hates them all equally.” His lovers laughed quietly on either side of him, and Drift felt the flurry of warmth return. Ragging on Prowl was, of course, an old Autobot pastime. Even if he wasn’t one anymore.

Ratchet sat up suddenly and turned to the indicator panel on the wall. It began beeping softly a moment later. He squinted at the displayed change in their vitals from across the room. “Well, it looks like one of our patients has finally woken up. These additional side-effects have still got me worried, though,” Ratchet murmured as he rolled off the berth.

Drift sighed, disappointed the moment had been ruined, but glad that they might finally get some answers. “Let’s get to it, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Tis the season to be mushy?


	7. Chapter 7

The first patient to come around had, as expected, been the first one to show up at the clinic last week. Ratchet ran a quick scan over him even as he was still trying to online his optics properly. “Can you hear me?” he asked absently, frowning at the readout.

“Where am I?” he mumbled near silently.

“My medibay. Now, what’s the last thing you remember?” he asked, trying to avoid planting false memories in the course of his questioning.

The mech seemed to be trying to recall. Ratchet noticed that, other than his systems booting up extremely slowly, everything seemed to be fine. Yet, something about the way his optics were tracking his movements… it just wasn’t quite right.

He hesitated before finally speaking. “You a cop?”

Ratchet sighed. “Do I look like one?” he asked, taking a step back so he could easily see his medic markings.

“Well, we were trying to score a hit, but I don’t remember much about it. Just the pain.” He tapped his chin as he thought. “I knew there was something wrong with the stuff about five minutes after shooting up. I tried to warn the boys off them, but they wouldn’t listen. But I at least made them drag their afts to the clinic before we all passed out, or worse.”

“You don’t remember anything about the transaction?” Ratchet asked, making a note on his datapad. Two of the unconscious mechs had been here before, but this one hadn’t. He didn’t expect him to give his name, at this point, so simply used a low-res snapshot to identify him.

He rubbed his forehead. “I can’t even remember what I was doing two weeks ago… Wait, is my chronometer showing the right time?”

“Yes,” Ratchet replied, truly concerned now. “How much of your memory is missing?”

“ _Centuries!_ ” He was beginning to get panicky. Ratchet took hold of his forearm, not wanting him to devolve into a state of shock with his systems so weak.

“All right, there’s no need to panic just yet. The memory loss could be temporary for all we know.” But a problem like this, if permanent, was far out of his field of specialty. They would have to be transported to the capital, the only place mnemosurgeons were still employed legally. And, for some reason, he had more than a mere suspicion that this _was_ permanent.

Ratchet automatically smacked the mech’s hand when he tried to remove the IV lines from his arm. “That’s important,” he scolded as he heard Drift and Wing enter the long stay ward behind him. He turned to them and took the tray of spare equipment Drift had prepared for him. “Those three will be waking up very soon if he’s anything to go by.”

Drift nodded and made his way over to the other three so he could keep a closer eye on them. Things were still quiet, so Ratchet took the chance to take a more detailed scan of his patient’s processor. His optics widened, but he turned away from him before he could exhibit any more signs of distress.

Drift and Wing gave him confused looks when he came over to run a scan of the other three’s heads and shoulders. All the results were the same; chunks of their processors’ internal structures had been rusted up, even completely eaten away in some cases. If he’d taken more detailed scans in the first place, he could have caught onto this before such extensive permanent damage had been done.

“What’s the matter?” Drift murmured.

Ratchet simply shook his head. “Just make sure they don’t try to do something stupid like remove their IV lines. I’ll explain everything in a moment, I just need to make some calls.”

Drift glanced between him and his patient and nodded slowly. He seemed to understand he couldn’t elaborate in present company, at least not yet.

Ratchet took out his communicator as he checked the scans against each other once more. He spoke as soon as the call clicked through. “Do not even think about telling me Prowl isn’t there this time.”

* * *

 

Blurr remembered the last time he’d been transported by police escort. It’d been only a few decades before the war had broken out, but it’d still been early enough for him to be in his heyday. People had been growing nervous about Decepticon activity, so he’d been escorted to stadiums amidst concern about potential terrorist attacks. This time, however, it almost seemed things were the other way around.

There were a few other differences, of course. Back then the police hadn’t been quite this fluorescent, or green. And they’d all been employed by the government, not working as hobbyists, or whatever ‘private agency’ was supposed to mean these days.

They crossed a wide square with some overgrown plants in the middle of it, and turned off to pull up in a narrow lane of cramped housing units. Blurr was relieved they could finally stop moving in slow motion as they all transformed and entered what looked like an old apartment.

Swindle complained as he was transferred from the dump truck’s trailer and into his hands. The big guy shrugged helplessly, but was noticeably more careful as they headed inside.

The entranceway closed and locked behind them, and Prowl led the group into what appeared to be a sitting room. He finally seemed to relax slightly as he dropped into a seat and supported his head in his hands. Blurr waited until Long Haul had laid Swindle on the seat opposite the police bot before sitting next to him.

It was only now that he realised just how miserable everyone in the crowded room looked. And, if anything, Prowl looked like he was in physical pain. “You all right there, Prowl?”

He glanced up, surprise passing over his faceplate. Maybe because he’d asked after him, or maybe just because he’d let himself show such a vulnerability. It was hard to tell with mechs like him.

“That’s not important right now,” Prowl deflected. “Start talking, Swindle. We’re running out of time,” he demanded in his usual hard tone.

One of the Constructicons, Mixmaster, if Blurr remembered any of their names correctly, put a tray of drinks down on the table. Blurr passed a glass over to Swindle and gave him a meaningful look. Prowl wouldn’t be able to do anything with only the explanation he’d given Blurr a few nights ago.

“Well, this is the cosiest interrogation I’ve ever had,” Swindle muttered, regarding the drink with suspicion.

“There’s a difference between a witness and a criminal. Or are you about to incriminate yourself?” Prowl snapped, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as though he had a processor ache. He took the glass Mixmaster was holding out to him without looking up, like he knew where it would be already. “Obviously we can’t do this at the station. It needs to be kept off record for your safety, remember?”

Swindle seemed to accept this explanation and launched into his own. “I’m sure you’re even more familiar with Starscream’s secret police than I am. I don’t know how they found me, but a month or so ago Blurr had one of those busy shifts where he has to work into the wee hours of the morning. It was about that time when a group of three early morning visitors decided to come round the back.

“They came straight to my room, so they definitely knew I was there already. And then they started asking some difficult questions.”

Prowl’s scowl became even more pronounced, if possible. The crane grabbed a datapad and opened something, before reaching forward to rest it on the small table between Blurr and Prowl. Blurr picked it up and saw a series of close-up photographs of mechs shooting from a building window. There seemed to be three different guys in total.

“Undoubtedly they’re wearing disguises there, but do you recognise any of them?” Prowl asked.

Blurr held it out for Swindle to squint at. “I can’t say for sure either way,” he replied.

“Well, the government-approved police just had them released on bail, so we’ll probably never see them in person again anyway. I assume this deal was between at least two parties. Can you give any names?”

“If I had that much on either of the groups, we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with! I _can_ give you the last known location of E-38 guy, but all I can say about the other side is that the trading is being done via select members of the secret police. You know Starscream doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, or Primus forbid, his image.”

“We all know he’s involved somehow, haven’t you seen the news lately? His approval is dropping right off because ‘the chosen one’ hasn’t really changed anything. Echoes of the class system based on alt-modes remain, especially in the poorest places on Cybertron where no one can afford alt-mode changes. But there’s no point in saying anything without proof.”

“Well, why don’t you get that Camien lady to do some snooping around?” Swindle suggested, finally deciding the drink was trustworthy. Blurr suspected this was probably because he hadn’t fallen offline from consuming it yet.

“Windblade?” Blurr interjected doubtfully. Prowl seemed to share his sentiment.

“God no,” Swindle scoffed. “The blue one, obviously. Ol’ tough as titanium bolts.”

“That might work, but we’re not going to see either of them any time soon. We don’t have any contact with them outside the bar, and I’ve warned my regulars away from the premises already.”

“Hey, Prowl,” Bonecrusher interrupted as he came back into the room. Blurr hadn’t really noticed that he’s left, what with all the other purple and green mechs already filling the cramped space. “Got a call from Ratchet here. He says he needs to bring his patients to where there’s a mnemosurgeon. Seems the poison is killing off more than just vital functions.”

If Ratchet was considering shutting up shop to come here himself, it had to be serious. Blurr glanced at Prowl again. It looked like he really was in pain now.

“Someone tell Tumbler he needs to…” He winced and one hand came to his head while the other clutched around the region of his spark chamber. He groaned and pitched forward. Blurr saw what was going to happen in plenty of time, and quickly pulled back the small table between them so he wouldn’t hit his head.

The Constructicons rushed to his side, but this only made him lash out. “No, no! Get out of here you idiots, or we’ll… we’ll…”

“Prowl, we’re going to any day now. It might as well be on our own terms,” the big guy said quietly, and the rest nodded.

“Yeah, this way we can be efficient and just go smash Starscream’s face in ourselves!”

“Quick, get him outside, I like this place,” one of them said as the group rushed by them. “Don’t want it to get devastated!” he added gleefully.

“Hey, you can’t do that!” Blurr yelled after them, but none of them seemed to care. He hesitated, not sure if he should stay here with Swindle or try to stop them from getting out of control.

“I’ll be fine. They said Ratchet’s coming soon, right? Someone needs to be here to meet up with him.” He shifted slightly. “I’ll try to find out where this Tumbler guy can be found, as well. Just… be careful.”

Blurr nodded and squeezed his hand. “I’ll see you in a bit, then,” he replied before taking off down the hallway. Despite his speed, they had already left the narrow street and were combining in the central square. At least that meant they hadn’t damaged anything yet. Now all he had to do was get them to stay still.

_Hah._

He raced to stand in the way as he called, “Hey, wait up! I haven’t finished talking to you!”

“What, you wanna come too?” the booming voice of Devastator asked as he bent down to inspect him.

Blurr steeled himself. This was just like getting used to talking to the media in his early days. Yeah. Exactly like that. “I was thinking it might be better just to hang around here a bit, y’know? I mean, hah, as if Starscream is worth starting another combiner war over!”

A giant hand reached out for him, and forcing himself to stay still when he knew he could easily outrun him and escape was one of the most difficult things he’d ever had to do. He was relieved when the hand opened again and he found himself sitting in the palm of it safe and sound.

“But if I go away now my components will be locked away. Again.”

And how were they going to find evidence and present a good case without an experienced, albeit bitter and moody, investigator? “Yes, but if you go on a rampage, they might never see the light of day again. As things are now, there’s still a chance to put things right.”

“I haven’t come out in decades. I want to stay longer if it’s going to take that long again!”

“I don’t have a problem with you staying a bit longer, I just don’t want people to get hurt,” he placated quickly. “Why don’t we just sit here for a while?”

He stared into the gigantic red optics, looking for a hint of one of them. Preferably a sensible one. But given how intelligent his speech was, Prowl had to be shining through strongly.

Blurr gripped the ridges of his palm as Devastator stood and moved across the square. Thankfully all he did was plant his aft in the middle of it and lean against one of his arms, spreading his legs comfortably.

“You’re all right, Speedy.”

Though it was difficult, he ignored the nickname for the sake of peace. “Thanks, Destructy.”

His booming laughter was almost enough to cover up the sounds of the ‘real’ police arriving on the scene.

* * *

 

Wing reluctantly left Ratchet and Drift to making arrangements for transporting the patients. According to Ratchet it sounded like something had gone terribly wrong with Prowl and the Constructicons, and now he wanted someone on the field as a witness, if nothing else. It took hours to drive between the Dead End and Metroplex’s current location, but if he flew direct at full throttle it should only take twenty minutes at most.

Wing climbed to the top of the clinic and adjusted the balance of his sword so it wouldn’t interfere with his transformation or his flight. Feeling he was a little rusty with his take-offs, Wing ran the length of the roof and fired up his turbines before leaping to transform and take off.

He remembered Ratchet’s warning about his slight change in weight distribution, and managed to steady himself rather than careen into the building across the street. Once he had got going, however, flying felt perfectly natural again. He adjusted the direction he was travelling in based on his internal tracking system before really taking off.

Wing knew the decision to close everything down had been a hard one. Who knew how many of the spiked boosters had been sold, and how many would come here seeking help in the next few days? Were there other sellers they hadn’t found yet? At the same time, they couldn’t just collect patients and watch their memories fade. He could see the benefit of going straight to the source of the problem, as well.

At the edge of Rodion he turned his attention to his private comm when he got a message from Drift. It was text-based, since his turbines would make it difficult to hear anything.

_I’m going to drop some medical supplies around the place and look for mechs with suitable alt-modes that we can pay to make the trip. It all might take a bit longer than we thought. Also, based on the news, it seems like they have actually combined, so be careful._

Wing observed the deserted expanse below as he composed a reply. _I understand. I should still go to their residence first, though?_

_Yeah, Swindle’s waiting for Ratchet to arrive, but you’ll get there first, obviously. Just… be sure to announce yourself._

So, another gun toting war veteran then? _Will do._

Wing felt exhausted from going at full throttle already, given how few options he’d had for high speed flights lately. Spacious as NCC had been for fliers, it had been difficult to live underground sometimes. And while looking for Drift, he’d thought it would be a bad idea to hastily call an area covered.

Still, he missed the place he’d called home for the last few million years. And perhaps fighting slavers, and proponents of other unsavoury activities, even more so.

Even though he was travelling directly toward the city at high speed, it was still a surprise when the first structures began to appear on the horizon so soon. He noticed the hastily constructed road had to detour around mountainous terrain, so anyone on wheels severely overestimated the distance.

Wing checked his navigation system again, noticing he was still on track. Fly straight ahead, and he’d be there in no time. His loose plan was to find their informant and then find the combiner that had only been described as gigantic and fluorescent green.

The closer he got to his destination, the more pronounced emergency alt-mode sirens became. That meant he wouldn’t be that difficult to find, right?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's like I have to expunge all my ridiculousness before getting to the climax of a fic, or something. This chapter is just mostly moving characters around, bleh.

Wing glanced around warily as he arrived at what had to be his destination. As far as the combiner went, ‘gigantic’ had not been an overstatement. However, he felt that surrounding him with the loud noises and flashing lights of emergency vehicles wasn’t the best idea. Especially not with the blue speedster sitting in his hand.

Wing only hesitated a few moments longer before making his way off the top of the building and onto the ground. He hoped to provide a distraction from the chaos, not become a part of it.

An officer approached him before he could get too far and held out his hands. “We’re asking civilians to please evacuate the area. This crisis could escalate at any moment.”

“I expect the noise and weapons aren’t doing much to keep things calm,” Wing replied, clearly not about to back down. “One would think, in a hostage situation, that things would be treated more carefully.”

He made his way forward, but the officer didn’t attempt to hold him back, only tailed him. “You can’t just…!”

Wing was surprised to see recognition in the combiner’s optics when he approached. “Your leg?”

“Oh, yes, I’m all patched up now. In fact I’m even better than before, as you might expect from Ratchet.”

“You know Ratchet?” the speedster called down, and now that Wing was closer, he did look vaguely familiar. “Where is he?”

Wing turned to the comms to try and get an accurate answer from Drift. _How long ‘til you get here?_

_We’re still an hour out._

“He and Drift are on their way with the patients. They’ll be at least an hour yet, so they sent me ahead.”

“Then can you go make sure my friend is all right? I can handle things out here.” The longer the mech spoke for, the faster he seemed to go.

“Yes, of course,” Wing replied, remembering that had been his first task to begin with. He nodded to them both before walking past them and crossing the police barrier that had been erected in a probably useless attempt to protect civilian housing.

He followed his navigation system down a narrow street and came to a halt in front of what he hoped was the correct door. It was already open, but he knocked loudly before going through. “Hello?” he called.

Wing moved down the hallway cautiously. The first room he came across seemed to be empty, but he could have sworn he’d heard something shuffling around. He moved inside and was about to call out again when a gun poked over the back of the long seat in front of him.

The pair of large purple optics peeking over the cover revealed the wielder was more scared than anything else. “Don’t move!” His hands shook and he looked like he was struggling to sit up, like he was in pain, even. “Who are you?”

“I came here ahead of Ratchet and Drift. You’re the one they wanted me to check on before watching what happens with Devastator, I presume?” The gun lowered slightly and Wing took a step forward.

The mech’s optics widened again and he shot slightly to the right of his head. “I didn’t say you could move! Prove it, first.”

“What do you mean, ‘prove it’? How am I supposed to do that?” If putting him back together again was the first thing Ratchet had to do when he got here, he’d never be allowed to go outside alone again.

“Well… you should have thought of that before barging in here!”

Before Wing could articulate how ridiculous that was, an explosive roar came from outside, and the ground shook for a moment. “Come on, I’m supposed to be watching this. And I sure as the pit hope that blue speedster didn’t just get caught up in whatever that was!”

“What? You saw Blurr out there?” The gun lowered again, but Wing didn’t move this time.

Blurr? Well, that explained why he’d looked familiar. Wing had never been into the races much, but before the war everyone had had at least a passing interest in his streak of broken records.

“Yes, he was sitting in the combiner’s hand when I last saw him.” Wing was relieved when he finally put the gun away and took his chance to move forward quickly. “We need to get out of here.”

“Well I’m not going to get very far on my own,” he muttered as he lay back down with a wince.

“I’ll carry you if you can’t walk, come on,” he replied, snatching him up in his arms before heading back to the doorway. Both of their sparks seemed to stop when they saw a pair of heavily armed special police in the hallway.

“We’re arresting you under suspicion of being the combiner’s co-conspirators. Remove your weapons and get on the floor.”

Wing was getting tired of having guns pointed at him.

* * *

 

“For someone who works so hard to uphold it, you’re not very good at following the law,” Starscream commented from the top of a building on the other side of the square.

Blurr glanced up at Devastator, hoping nothing the seeker said would get to him too much. So far, he’d managed to calm him down despite the armed police and heavily armoured alt-moders. But Starscream was the reason he’d combined in the first place, so he wasn’t sure how much longer his luck would keep up.

“Now hurry up and change back so we can arrest and separate your component parts _permanently_.”

There was a rumble in his chest and Devastator got up on one knee. “Hey, hey! Just ignore that moron. Optimus and Windblade won’t let him lock any part of you away forever, as long as you don’t hurt anyone.”

He sighed with relief when Devastator backed down again. But, he couldn’t keep this up forever.

“Are you sure about that? I’d have thought Optimus would be as relieved as me to be rid of you, Prowl.”

Devastator stood with surprising swiftness for someone so large. Someone with a twitchy trigger finger fired at the movement, and managed to just barely miss Blurr. Devastator shifted his hand to give him better coverage. But Blurr still saw him bring his foot down on the mech in question.

Blurr grimaced when the pede lifted to reveal little more than a puddle of energon and a pile of twisted plating. He thought he’d put all this behind him.

Of course, everyone else in the square took this as their cue to begin fighting in earnest. “Devastator! Just ignore those idiots and let’s get out of here!”

“No!” he yelled, finally refusing him. Blurr deflated with disappointment, though he was surprised that it’d lasted for so long. “You run fast, so run away. Devastator _devastate_.”

And now his intelligence was dropping by the second, back to the same tired joke. When Devastator’s hand lowered him to the ground, Blurr immediately jumped off and ran for Prowl’s residence. Things were going to the pit here. He had to focus on getting Swindle _away_.

He scowled when he reached the open doorway and saw two armed police officers menacing his friend, and Ratchet’s, with their guns. His Wrecker instincts came back in a flurry, and he knocked the idiots’ heads together before they could follow the jet’s surprised gaze and discover him too. Blurr kicked their guns away before he bent over Swindle, who had been laid out on the floor.

The jet sat up next to them, picking up his sword and keeping an eye on the guards that had just been knocked over. Blurr reached out for Swindle’s blaster and gave it back to him. “Are you all right? Can I pick you up?” His speech was too fast, he realised. That always happened when he moved quickly. But before he could repeat himself, he got an answer.

“I’m already in pain and we need to move. Let’s just go,” Swindle grumbled.

“Go where?” the jet asked.

“I’m not saying where in front of _them_ , just follow me. I’ll take it slow for ya,” he said more confidently than he felt as he lifted Swindle and turned to the exit.

He looked outside and saw things seemed to have calmed down on the combiner front. Unfortunately that probably meant their allies were being arrested right now, but they had their next hint.

 _So, where_ are _we going?_ He asked Swindle silently.

_Tumbler, more commonly known as Chromedome. Found directions left on Prowl’s datapad. He planned for this too, of course. Guess that guy is the only friend he has left, lucky he has the right skillset too._

_Is he expecting us?_

Swindle shrugged slightly. _Probably not._

“All right, let’s go. I’ll tell Ratchet where to meet us.”

* * *

 

“What do you mean restricted access? I have patients who need facilities that can only be found in the capital!”

Drift could see Ratchet was struggling to not leave vehicle mode and throttle the border security. Unfortunately for them, he couldn’t just wave the CMO title around to get what he wanted anymore.

“There’s a combiner crisis! It’s dangerous! We’re going to need all the medics we can spare when it’s over, so can you not just wait here until it’s all over?”

“Dangerous? _Dangerous_? Don’t you know what I’ve been through over the last four million years? I have more chance of surviving in there than everyone in your squad combined!”

Drift mentally rolled his optics. _Here we go…_

But he had mercy on the guard, who had actually been sparked in the late stages of the war, it seemed. Drift transformed, since he was the only one in the party not carrying a patient, and came to the fore of the group. “I’ll take responsibility for them.”

Drift had thought the swords and guns would speak for themselves, but the guard just stamped his – her? – pede in frustration. “And what am I supposed to write down? Exception granted to combat nurse?”

Drift could tell Ratchet was doing his damnedest to not laugh at that name, and had to resist turning to glare at him. A quiet laugh came from behind the guard and a mech leaned over the customs desk. “You’re funny, kid, but they seem fine to me. I’ll sign off an exception.”

“But, sir, our orders…”

“Trust me, this is important. It’ll make sense later,” he said, typing something into the computer. “All right, you’re free to go gentlemechs.”

“About time, Jazz,” Ratchet huffed, and started rolling forward.

“No problems, Ratchet. I’d never get in the way of a combat nurse. I’ve _seen_ this one in action.”

Drift grumbled before transforming again and taking off into the city. Ratchet turned his emergency sirens on, and it said something when they blended in more than they stood out. Drift dropped back and followed Ratchet to the correct district.

As the streets got quieter, they put more effort into blending into the background. As they got closer, the sirens went off. Eventually, the transporters decided to hide in a side street while Drift approached the address they had been given alone.

He knocked on the door hurriedly, and was relieved when it was answered almost instantly. He glanced up to see Blurr and a smile came over his face. “Long time no see!” he greeted.

Blurr returned the grin and shook his hand quickly. As in, _Blurr_ quickly. “Hate to be rude, but we have to get you all inside now. The others?”

Drift beckoned them over, using the movement to disguise the fact he had to shake out his hand. They finally transformed and came out of hiding, carrying their respective patients. Once they were all inside, Blurr snapped the door shut behind them and hurriedly barricaded it again.

“Wing didn’t say you were here!” Drift said, now that they had some time to talk. Ratchet had already hurried off to harass Chromedome for his help.

“Oh, that’s his name? I shouldn’t forget that one,” Blurr muttered.

Drift elbowed him. “Don’t be so rude,” he said light-heartedly.

“So, uh, we don’t really want to hang around here,” one of the mechs that had helped them transport the patients interrupted as they came back to the entranceway. Drift glanced back to see them all sitting gingerly on the available tables and chairs while Ratchet, Chromedome and Rewind argued quietly.

“Right, of course not.” He reached into his subspace and distributed the agreed amount of energon and shanix. “You’ll be safer in the city for a while. The guy who let us in will ‘forget’ what we looked like even if he is questioned. You’ll need this to find a place to sleep,” he added, handing over more money.

They all grinned at each other and took it. “You let us know if you need help again, yeah?” the one who seemed to do all the talking added before they left.

Blurr and Drift made their way into the sitting room, where the arguers seemed to have come to a compromise. Chromedome was looking at the scans Ratchet had taken, at least. Drift glanced around to see Wing was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, his Great Sword leaning into the corner next to him.

“Are you all right?” Drift asked, leaving Blurr to take up the position he guessed he’d just vacated at Swindle’s side.

“I’m just restless. I feel bad for leaving them to be arrested.”

“Prowl knew all this was going to happen eventually,” Swindle called over to them. “It’s all right, he’s prepared.”

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing while this continues!”

“Well you’re going to have to until we have the proof we need, and I know my patients aren’t going to lose any more of their memory any time soon!” Ratchet snapped.

Instead of backing down like he usually did, Wing just glared at him. Drift felt he should step in before things got out of hand. “We need evidence to accuse Starscream. We’re going to get more solid clues by finding out exactly what happened to our patients and why. Just give it another twelve hours.”

Wing reluctantly nodded, and Drift resolved to stick close to him for the rest of the evening. Wing had an overpowering sense of justice and was more a mech of action. But he couldn’t just run off and be a vigilante here and now.

“Tell me if you find something important,” Ratchet muttered to Chromedome before turning to Swindle. “Now let me take a look at that back. Your constant wincing is getting on my nerves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …and then I performed the procedure to replace my own hands with my mortal enemy’s! Youth today with their multiple genders and sentient cities, they don’t know the meaning of danger! Now get off my lawn!


	9. Chapter 9

Prowl let the officers do what they wanted, his processor not really on his immediate surroundings. To his surprise they only sat him in the chair, instead of tying him to it. Of course, his hands were still cuffed, but that was to be expected. Interestingly, this looked like an office rather than an interrogation room.

_PROBABILITY OF ENCOUNTER WITH DESIGNATION:“OPTIMUS PRIME”: 96.88%_

That was slightly higher than the original estimate of things playing out like this he’d made a week ago. It was the part that came next that had too many randomised factors to be sure of. At the first sign of his misgivings, he felt a swell of support through the bond. Everyone was conscious, at least, then.

The door opened behind him again, but he didn’t look around until a cube of energon was placed in front of him. Optimus dumped a precarious stack of datapads on the desk before dropping into the seat opposite him.

“An interesting evidence trail Prowl, but all I needed was a statement from Megatron about the nature of your combiner bond. Once the trial goes ahead I expect you will be allowed to combine whenever you want, as long as you don’t cause any property damage.” He pulled something out of the pile and brushed his fingers over the screen. “You might be able to bring yourself to thank him in a few millennia.”

“Thank him for what, doing this to me in the first place?” he muttered. Prowl ignored the energon in front of him and waited for Optimus to get to the point. This was a better outcome than he’d calculated. But then, Megatron was definitely one of those random factors.

“You still have to stand trial for the squad members you murdered, but I’m guessing your issue isn’t the main reason you’re here.”

Prowl didn’t bother making his claims about being provoked and enacting self-defence. This wasn’t a court room. “Have you not been reading my reports about the Dead End?”

“And what are you hoping to achieve with your vigilante justice? You have just as much of a motivation to frame Starscream as he does to commit the crime in question.” Optimus took a sip from his own cube.

“I’m _hoping_ to stop people getting killed on the streets, if it’s not obvious!” he said as he clenched his tied hands into fists. “People who are incapable of defending themselves!”

“That’s certainly how it appears, however…”

Prowl stood, unable to contain his frustration. “You should be more concerned with protecting your people! Spin things so it looks like Starscream submitting to incarceration for the duration of the investigation is the honourable thing, if you have to!”

Optimus folded his arms tighter and his optics narrowed. _“Sit down_.”

“That’s all you have to say? I hadn’t realised the meaning of ‘Prime’ had reverted back to ‘government pet’!”

Optimus moved around the desk swiftly and grabbed him around the neck. His grip was firm, but not enough to do damage. Yet.

“Nothing sensible to say to that either? Never mind, I have my usual backups. There are still real Autobots out there looking for the truth.”

Primus, he’d forgotten how hard Optimus could hit. With his arms bound he had no choice about losing his balance. He tripped over the chair behind him on his way down. Prowl landed hard on the floor, only now realising that he was bleeding out of his mouth and olfactories.

Optimus left the office rather than continue hitting, which did surprise him somewhat. But maybe Prowl had given him something to think about. The support in the bond had turned to concern. _I’m fine_ , he thought at them.

“Hello, can you hear me?” a voice came from above him. He glanced up, optics out of calibration. A different officer from the ones who had brought him up here was kneeling in front of him. “I’m going to patch up the bleeding before taking you back down. Can you sit up?”

“Better make sure he’s not going to attack you before you get too close, next time,” a more familiar voice scolded lightly.

He saw her roll her optics as he felt some sort of material wipe his face. Well, that eliminated the theory of this being Arcee in yet another new frame. “What are you doing here, Jazz?”

“Training the recruits. What are _you_ doing here?”

Prowl offlined his optics with a sigh. He didn’t have the patience for this right now. “I don’t know.”

“Aren’t we, well, going to report him for this?” the cadet asked.

“What’s the point?” Prowl muttered, spitting a glob of energon on the ground before turning his injury back toward her. “It won’t amount to anything, and there’s something more important to be worrying about right now.”

“We saw them arrive safe and sound, Prowl. Do you need to get a message to them?”

“Pfft, they’ll figure it out.”

* * *

 

Swindle had looked like he could have cried when Ratchet told him he could transform again. Only, he’d never truly be rid of the bursts of pain from moving too suddenly. But he seemed happy enough with what he’d been able to do, and that was more than he could say for his amnesic patients.

“Of everyone, I didn’t think Prowl would enlist _you_ to pressure him, Ratchet,” Rewind snapped. He sat at the table with both his arms and legs crossed tightly.

“What? What is that supposed to mean?” Ratchet demanded. “These are my patients and I failed to help them. I’m trying to make them better, not brainwash them or some nonsense!”

Chromedome returned to the table and interrupted their back-and-forth. “I do have a professional responsibility to them, Rewind. But,” he continued when Rewind looked about ready to argue, “there isn’t anything I can do for them anyway. The brain module parts are damaged, not simply disconnected. I don’t have my needles anymore, and even if I tried something manually, there’s just nothing to reconnect.”

Ratchet sighed and slumped in his seat. He glanced at the group sitting at the table with them. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing that can be done.” The four mechs shared looks of dismay. “We’ll get appropriate care organised for you as soon as possible.”

“Great, now that’s cleared up, can you take your conspiracy theories elsewhere?” Rewind muttered. “Are we going to have to move after this, Domey?”

Chromedome shrugged before addressing Ratchet again. “It looks like the chemical ordinarily shuts down vital systems around the spark. But of course one of the first places it infects is the inner energon well. It seems to make a compound at this point that has a tendency to leave the well and follow the main fuel lines back up to here.” Chromedome pointed at his forehead. “This diluted compound is no longer deadly, but it still causes damage.

“Most of it has worked its way out of your systems by now,” he said to the closest patient. “So things won’t get worse, at least.”

“Then what’s the motivation here?” Swindle demanded from across the room. “If he fails to extinguish the spark, then at least he can wipe their minds?”

Drift turned away from Wing and looked at them. “Could it be possible he’s trying to reintroduce mass cold construction?” he asked with a hand over his own spark. “And failing that, he at least has a blank slate to work with?”

Disgust coiled through Ratchet’s insides as he realised just how plausible that line of reasoning was. “The only thing the poison normally damages is the spark chamber, preventing it from supporting a spark. Normally fuel circulation would stop before it reached the brain module. So, you may be right. The frames are meant to be ‘repurposed’.”

“And you can bet Starscream has kept his hands clean of the whole affair. Maybe there isn’t even evidence to find,” Swindle muttered.

“Well we can’t just let things play out,” Wing interrupted. “We should at least confront him, even if only personally.”

“Only personally? Are you sure you don’t want me to invite the media circus?” Blurr asked with half a smile.

Ratchet just shook his head. “According to the official schedule, it’s four hours until the next senate enquiry ends. We should try to catch him after that. In the meantime, I’d suggest recharge and rotating guards.”

* * *

 

Wing was paranoid of being recognised and arrested again as they approached parliament house. But it all came to nothing. The only reason they were stopped was to drop off their weapons before entering.

Drift, who’d been walking ahead of them, was the first to reluctantly comply with their demands. To his surprise, a lot more than just the two swords and set of blasters ended up in his box. Were those explosive devices?

Ratchet was much faster, simply depositing a utilitarian pistol. Most of his tools could be considered weapons, but he was a medic, and so was granted a special exception.

But then, Wing was also entitled to one. “This is a Great Sword of the Circle of Light. As a high-ranking knight I fall under a religious exception. This blade is not for fighting.”

The guards glanced at each other hesitantly. “I’m not sure of that. Just give me a moment please?” he said, moving to a monitor in the corner. He typed something into the computer and frowned before coming back over. “All right, I’ve never heard of it before, but it looks like that law is still in effect. You’re all free to proceed.”

Ratchet waited until they had left the front desk and were waiting by the elevators before commenting. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Wing was getting tired of Ratchet disrespecting everything he stood for, so didn’t bother replying.

“Ratchet, if you use that weapon too much you’ll die. I think they’d believe his promise to not hurt anyone over mine. Besides, it doesn’t matter when your frame is your weapon,” Drift said.

“These archaic laws should still exist even when you have fanatics like Star Sabre running around?”

“There are fanatics in all walks of life!” Drift exclaimed as the elevator arrived. He grabbed Ratchet’s wrist and shook his hand in front of his face. Wing didn’t really get the point he was trying to make, but Ratchet seemed to.

“Yeah, well, use little stories to remind yourself to be decent, if you must. My problem with religion is that the majority of mechs stop using their processor when confronted with it.”

“Is now really the time for this discussion?” Wing asked flatly. They had arrived at the floor of private offices. “Where does he live again?”

Ratchet glanced down the hallway and nodded. “When you smell a rat…”

Wing spotted a strange looking mech leave one door and hurry through another at the end of the hallway. “Right at the end, you think? Guess he’d want a big balcony,” Drift replied and they continued on.

There was some hesitation among them before Ratchet finally decided that knocking on the door first _would_ be a good idea. When there was no answer, they cautiously made their way inside.

It was a typical hab suite, other than the sheer size of it. A large desk sat in front of them, and to the right were wall-length windows and a doorway onto a large balcony, with plenty of room to take off and land.

Behind the desk was another door, undoubtedly leading to the more private parts of his dwelling, such as a place to refuel, recharge and wash up. Wing jumped slightly when the door slammed open as though in response to his staring.

“Do you not know the meaning of priva- oh,” the red seeker began, but then paused. He looked worried for a moment before smoothing his features over. “What is it?”

“This is what you get when you live in the house of the people you serve, Starscream,” Ratchet replied. “And you already know why we’re here.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he snapped, making his way over to his desk. “I don’t have time to play games with Autobots. Go annoy Windblade or something.”

“Stop playing dumb. I thought you’d be better at lying, but I can see the signs from here,” Ratchet scoffed. “Increased energon flow by 1.5%, spark activity up to 65-”

“Enough baseless conjecture! Of course I’m displaying signs of nervousness. A group of mechs who somehow managed to get weaponry that obvious through security have just barged into my living quarters!”

Ratchet held up his hand, motioning him to stop and shut it. “Let’s stay on task, shall we? You might not have left enough evidence for us to convict you, but there’s more than enough for us to smear your precious reputation even more. For a start, Blurr’s old media contacts are as excited as ever to hear from him again.”

Starscream glanced away and clenched his fists. If Wing had to guess, his threat to eliminate Blurr hadn’t been baseless for this exact reason.

“All we want you to do is _stop it._ Just call off this madness and stop killing people. Fix the poverty problem properly.”

“You can’t be serious!” Wing said, unable to hold himself back any longer. “You’re just going to give him a slap on the wrist?” He hadn’t felt the slightest need to draw his sword on someone since he’d almost died.

“I’m not saying we forgive him, but things are more complicated than that. Can’t you see that suddenly removing the ‘chosen’ leader is how the war is going to start again?” Ratchet snapped.

“Blurr’s going to start his press conference any moment now. So choose which way it’s going to go,” Drift said, nodding at the vidscreen. “Or we’ll choose for you.”

Starscream glanced at them cautiously before turning the vidscreen on and flicking to the main news channel. The newscaster was excitedly speculating about what Blurr may be about to announce. Perhaps he’d be coming out of retirement?

“Trust it to be a slow news day,” Starscream muttered.

“That just makes your decision more time-sensitive,” Drift said, and continued approaching him. “If you ignore us for the next five minutes, he’ll speak out against you and announce his plan to fund redevelopment in the area. If you give it up, he’ll give you the credit for the funding initiative, and we can keep the fallout private. So what’s it going to be?” Drift asked as he leant over and rested his hands on the desk.

Starscream looked furious for a moment before composing himself enough to reply in a civil tone. “An interesting proposition, but I have a better idea.”

Before Wing had fully registered what was happening, Starscream had slammed Drift’s head into the table and simultaneously gone for the top drawer of his desk. Even as Wing ran forward, he was forcing him to stay down and holding a booster casing against Drift’s neck cabling.

“Why don’t you tell Blurr to bullshit something else for the media? There could be _anything_ in here.”

* * *

 

“Swindle, how much does it cost to build a hospital?”

Swindle turned his gaze away from Prowl’s datapad slowly, and let it wander over the familiar street behind Maccadam’s before meeting the racer’s optics. He raised a brow. “What?”

“How much does a hospital cost? I want to know if I can afford to build one.”

Swindle rolled his optics. “I don’t know, 300 million for 200 berths, I guess.” He’d only had to budget for something like that once during the war, and he wasn’t sure if it’d cost more or less now.

“Huh. What about a school? Just for primary and secondary education, I mean.”

“I don’t know, 40 million? Depends on the site and availability of utilities, doesn’t it?”

“Really, that’s all?” he asked, typing something into his own datapad. “All these zeros became meaningless after a while.”

“What are you talking about?” Swindle demanded, snatching his datapad from him. He glanced down to see Blurr’s bank account details were open next to a spreadsheet. The only thing more shocking than the total sum of his accounts was his complete inability to use financial planning tools. “ _How_ do you have this much money after the war?”

“Well, all that was worth nothing _during_ the war. But now that our currency is recovering, I think it’s time I spent it on something helpful.” He grinned down at Swindle when he just looked dismayed. “What, you only like me for my money?”

“I didn’t know you still had money! That’s why I’ve been freaking out about your business practices!”

“Well, when you’re as famous as I was, you find certain things come to you for free. I don’t know anything about budgeting and politics, so I’m not quite big-headed enough to go get involved in that directly, but I’m not doing anything with this and others obviously need it. So my question is, do I have enough bank to put a dent in the redevelopment costs for the Dead End?”

“You can make the buildings, sure. But remember you’ll have to hire skilled staff to put them to use. That population has nothing, so they’d rather steal than take the risk of employment right now. It might be better to organise community resources such as a fuel kitchen and homeless shelter, free clean-and-polishes for job interviews, that kind of thing first. Then again, waving the idea of school and hospital funding around _is_ more likely to get others’ attention.”

“Great! So I can provide the immediate relief, and maybe primary education, and we can lobby to get taxes diverted for the rest! How about continuing to donate 20% of the bar’s revenue to projects as well?”

Swindle turned to the spreadsheets and began setting them out properly. “You might have to raise your prices a little, but I think it’s possible for you to live off the bar alone and start funding smaller projects.”

“You mean _we_ , don’t you? I can’t do any of this without your help, Swindle. And I’ve kind of gotten used to having you around,” he murmured, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“R-right, both of us will have fuel and shelter, at least,” he corrected.

Blurr leant down and cupped one cheek while he planted a kiss on the other. “Sounds good. I’d better get on with the announcement.”

Heat rose to Swindle’s faceplate in a way it hadn’t since before the war. He stared as the racer made his way to the front of the building with confident strides.

Swindle finally glanced down at his communicator, which had started going off a little while ago. He saw it was Ratchet trying to get through to him, and braced himself for a verbal bollocking. “Yeah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If RID2015 can have Windblade, then I can have Strongarm. Also this story already has way too many random, unnamed background characters ^_^'
> 
> I thiiink there are 2 more chapters, but last time I said that I sat down and wrote a 7000 word 'chapter', so who knows really?


	10. Chapter 10

It was at times like this Ratchet regretted that Megatron hadn’t throttled Starscream before renouncing violence. His hands clenched uselessly as his programs oh so helpfully pointed out his conjunx was about to be administered something he didn’t require. And all he could do to stop it was comply.

“Any time now,” Starscream snapped, not taking his optics off the angry knight in front of him.

Ratchet held his communicator out. “All right, I’m calling now, see?”

He could only be relieved that Drift wasn’t trying to fight his way out of the hold. Was this a sample of the E-38 laced boosters, or just normal, easily treatable, Syk? Surely Starscream wasn’t dumb enough to leave something so incriminating lying around his own home. But there was no way he was going to risk calling a bluff where Drift was concerned.

As soon as the phone picked up he growled, “Make Blurr stop what he’s doing!”

“He’s already out there!” Swindle complained. And Ratchet could see the camera had switched to the front of Maccadam’s where Blurr was surrounded by reporters.

He noticed Starscream’s thumb twitching over the injection button and his hand tightened around the communicator. “Then follow him and tell him to wait. This could be a matter of life and death, Swindle!”

“There’s nothing I can do. I can’t get to him with so many people in the way, and showing myself in public isn’t exactly a wise move for me right now!” Swindle snapped back.

Before Ratchet could tell the idiot to private comm him, Starscream had become impatient. “If you can’t stop him, then I will!” His thumb pressed into the booster casing, causing it to discharge into Drift’s fuel lines. He immediately fled for the balcony. Wing moved quickly in an attempt to intercept him.

“No time for that, I need your help here!” Ratchet scolded as he discarded the communicator and ran forward, easing Drift into the recovery position. A worrying amount of energon was leaving his systems, but that wouldn’t be fatal on its own. He took a swab from around the puncture and swore at his programs in an attempt to make them run faster. He had to know exactly what had been injected, because whatever it was would be in his brain module by now.

Wing hesitated, struggling to decide what to do. Starscream was right in front of him, and he clearly didn’t want to watch opportunity slip through his fingers. But Starscream wasn’t a pushover, either, and Ratchet didn’t want them fighting in here while he was trying to operate.

“Wing, not now! Blurr can take care of himself.”

Wing’s gaze flicked over them and he seemed to understand Ratchet’s protests. He reluctantly moved away from the doorway to the balcony and let Starscream flee.

Ratchet’s attention was drawn back to Drift when he moaned with pain. Ratchet leaned over and took hold of his hand as he began shaking.

Wing watched Starscream fade into the distance and sighed. Then he turned back and almost fell over himself in his haste to get to them.

“Drift, concentrate,” he said, kneeling next to them and taking a hold of one of his shaking hands.

Ratchet wanted to smack him upside the head. Really, _concentrate,_ when he was in this state? But after a moment his programs began reporting that his patient’s vitals were slowly returning to something more normal.

“He’s basically conditioned to respond when I say it like that,” Wing admitted.

Deciding to save his disapproval for later, Ratchet pushed Drift into his arms and got clear of them so he could transform. “Get him in the back and keep pressure on that open wound!”

The jet did so, but found the space rather cramped. “Am I in the way?” he asked as he tried to apply sufficient pressure from an odd angle.

Ratchet’s programs had finally finished their analysis and his moveable parts slackened with relief. “It was just a normal booster mixed with a common pathogen. Both things we can deal with easily with the equipment I have.”

“The real struggle to heal will come after all this is over,” Wing muttered, making way for the flushing machine he was somewhat familiar with by now.

“We’ll have to worry about that when we get to it.”

* * *

 

“All right, thanks for coming out today,” Blurr called to the audience that had gathered. Normally he’d take time to set up recording equipment, but now everyone had to fight to get close enough so theirs would pick up his voice well enough for broadcast.

He thought he heard Swindle call something from behind him, but he wanted to get this out of the way first. He also didn’t want to risk drawing attention to him given the resurgence of his enemies.

 _Blurr! Stop the broadcast!_ He tried not to physically jump when the voice came through his private comm.

 _Huh?_ He didn’t know what Swindle was talking about, but it was a bit late for that now.

“The Dead End has been a hot topic lately. A lot of people have been criticising the government for not investing into the poorest part of Cybertron, and I have to agree with what’s been said. Now isn’t the time for us to be neglecting our fellow mechs. I know I didn’t fight in the war just for things to stay the same.”

_It’s… too late, don’t worry. Starscream is on his way._

_Oh, let’s talk after this. And thanks for the heads up._

“But fortunately, thanks to my pre-war career and time as a Wrecker, I have the means to do something about it now. Not only do I want Maccadam’s to continue being a hub for social activity, but I’d like to begin community-based fundraising for the bare essentials desperately needed by the inhabitants of the Dead End and places like it. It won’t be easy, but all of Cybertron _can_ live as well as those of us who’ve made Metroplex our home.”

Blurr paused and glanced up at the sky when it became obvious the roar of turbines was coming right toward them. Blurr bit his bottom lip indecisively, even wondering if he should tell them all to run.

Deciding against it, he continued. “Of course, I won’t be the only one involved in this project.” The sound of transformation came from behind the crowd, and the seeker landed a tad too heavily to be normal.

If looks could kill, Blurr would probably be offline by now. But, of course, Starscream had schooled his features by the time the crowd turned to look at him. Or, more importantly, before some of them began filming him.

“That’s right,” he finally said. “Don’t think we’ve been ignoring the people’s comments on the state of Cybertron.”

As he blathered on, Blurr looked back at Swindle and noticed he was holding a rifle in his hands. Blurr shook his head very slightly before subtly shifting further out of the line of fire. _I know it’s tempting, but don’t shoot him. I think he’s going to behave for now._

“… and so, we will consider working with Blurr on his little project. If all goes well and, of course, efficiently, then resources will be diverted as appropriate. I have time to take some questions before the next senate enquiry.”

Blurr’s posture slackened with relief, and he was glad to see Swindle put the gun away and go back into hiding. Those representing the more serious publications moved in to question Starscream, while the tabloids remained hovering around him.

“Are you going to hit the racetrack again any time soon, Blurr?” one of them asked.

“Not outside of a charity event, I’m afraid. I think I’ll have my hands full for a while.”

“Is Maccadam’s going to open again soon? Why did it close?”

“Oh, you know what politics is like. My opening hours couldn’t interfere with the appeals process,” he lied smoothly, giving Starscream a significant look before turning away again. “But having said that, we’ll be opening up again tomorrow night. So if you don’t mind, I’d better get things sorted out before then!”

He managed to get away and head back inside just fine, since Starscream was there to soak up the attention. “Not opening again until tomorrow? That’s a waste, it’s not even midday,” Swindle commented.

“Well, I thought you and I could have a bit of fun tonight instead,” he replied with a suggestive smirk.

It was so easy to get Swindle flustered, and so much fun. But if he was honest, he wasn’t quite ready to actually follow through with such a suggestion. The last time he’d been in anything approaching a long term relationship had been in his early days as a racer. But as soon as he’d started seeing a bit of fame, his partner had decided to sell a story about his interfacing array and abilities.

Not that he thought Swindle would go that far these days, but he couldn’t afford to risk it at all, right now. To this day, he _still_ gave the reporter who’d done the write-up the cold shoulder at every opportunity.

“But first, don’t you think we should make sure everyone’s all right? _Then_ maybe we can have a rousing round of ‘let’s make sure there’s no bomb’ before Starscream leaves.”

Swindle nodded and took out the communicator. He came over to stand next to him as he waited for Ratchet to pick up.

* * *

 

“We’re fine,” Drift heard Ratchet mutter distantly. “No, he didn’t kill Drift. But it was a close thing, you fragging idiot!”

Drift smiled, then winced as his movement somehow caused his whole head to ache. His optics wouldn’t come online, but he wasn’t worried about that. If Ratchet was nearby and yelling at someone, it probably meant that he was ok. Or, as ok as he could be.

“Are you awake, Drift?” That was Wing’s soft voice. And, he realised, probably his gentle hands holding one of his.

It hurt too much to try and speak, so he slowly managed to write some text. _Sort of. Maybe._

He was jostled around a little as Wing laughed quietly. “Ratchet said you’re starting to come down from your high. Am I speaking too loudly?”

 _It’s ok. I just feel sick._ He sent that before deciding to ask something else. _Is Rewind still mad?_

“Well, we’re still in their house, so he’s probably a bit mad about that. But Ratchet said we’ll move you soon, so we’ll be back at the clinic when you come down completely. He said it’s not going to be very nice from there.”

 _I’ve never had a hit this strong. I’m going to be feeling this for months_. He gripped Wing’s hand and winced as the pain shot through his fingers this time. _It’s never hurt like this before!_

“That must be the pathogen Ratchet was talking about. He thinks the mixture might have been a prototype. You know, something Starscream tried before learning about E-38 and bullying Swindle into getting it for him.”

That made sense. Maybe. It was hard to think clearly, so he’d rely on his partners’ judgements for now. He turned his head toward approaching footsteps even though his optics still didn’t seem to feel like giving him any visual feedback.

“Drift,” Ratchet murmured, and he felt his other hand be enclosed. “If you can stay awake for more than five minutes, I think it’ll be safe to travel with you. The energon replacements should help dilute the effects soon.”

_I’m sorry Ratchet, that was a stupid thing for me to do._

“It was stupid, yes,” he muttered even as one of his hands travelled over him, checking on him. “I’m just glad there wasn’t anything worse in there.”

“He was far more skilled than I’d been expecting from his stance,” Wing added.

Ratchet squeezed his hand. “You look good to go. I think we should be off before we put our reluctant hosts out any more.”

The next sequence of events were a little disorienting, but Drift guessed they had moved him outside, before Wing put him in the back of Ratchet’s vehicle mode. “Spit it out, Wing,” Ratchet grumbled after they had remained stationary for some time.

“I’m not ready to leave yet.”

“We need to get Drift back home where we can care for him properly!”

Drift winced as he realised they were going to start fighting again. But he soon found he didn’t need to say anything. “No, _you_ need to do that. I’ll do what I need to do,” Wing said, and the next thing Drift knew he felt the hilt of a sword in his hand and heard the back doors slam shut.

Ratchet grumbled moodily, but it felt like he was taking off for the road anyway. “Don’t worry Ratchet, he gave me the Great Sword.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“… He’ll be back soon.”

* * *

 

Prowl sat with his optics offline, head tilted back against the cell wall behind him. The soft hiss of laser bars was right by his audial, but it didn’t bother him too much. All five of his gestalt mates were crammed into the cell next to him, though they only seemed cramped because they were all trying to sit as close to him as possible.

He did glance over when he heard someone coming down the hall. He grimaced when Optimus came into view, but then felt curiosity when Wing followed him. The jet glanced at Optimus, who made a gesture for him to go on ahead. It seemed they had coincidentally arrived at the same time.

“I’m sorry for leaving you all to be arrested.”

Prowl rolled his optics and shifted uncomfortably. “If you hadn’t, you would have been arrested as well. What happened?”

“Well, we’ve stopped Starscream for now. He’s still in office, but Blurr has made sure the Dead End is going to be redeveloped instead of reformatted.” Prowl waited for him to continue when he looked like he had more to say. “Still, I can’t be the only one concerned about who and where this substance came from in the first place,” he said quickly. “Won’t they cause more trouble in the future?”

“There’s only so much I can do from legal limbo, but it’s obviously the first thing I’m going to look into when I get out of here.” He glanced at Optimus before adding, “I have someone looking into the communications trails already.”

Wing nodded, looking somewhat disappointed. Probably because there wasn’t anything he could do now. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

They silently exchanged private comm signals before Wing nodded again and left. “And what do you want?” Prowl demanded.

Optimus folded his arms and seemed thoughtful for a moment. “I owe you an apology.”

“No duh,” Scavenger muttered, and the rest of the group mumbled their agreement.

“Oh?”

Looking uncomfortable, he tapped his fingers against his upper arm. “The security footage in Starscream’s quarters from earlier today was rather… interesting.”

“And?” Prowl prompted, getting to his pedes and walking over to him now.

“Nothing solid, but it certainly supports your theory. But even if it was, we couldn’t just suddenly displace him. If we were to publicly accuse him, who would believe three Autobots?”

“Three?” Bonecrusher echoed Prowl’s thoughts.

“Ratchet has the evidence of his tampering in his patient records, now,” he explained before continuing. “And even if we did manage to get that far, who would the people possibly accept as a suitable replacement?”

“Not you,” Prowl said immediately.

“And not you, either,” he replied, almost sounding amused. “I guess that’s something you’ll have to work on as well,” he added before turning and leaving.

Prowl watched him walk back down the hallway before returning to his seat, processor already alive with new calculations.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift takes some bad advice from Rodimus, but it all ends up going surprisingly well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you gotta cram all the shipping that was _meant_ to be in this story into the last chapter...  
>  3,500 words of relationship problems and making up/out! Have fun friends XD

“Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own for a few hours?” Drift asked as he hovered around the clinic’s entranceway.

“I managed on my own before the war, I’m sure I can handle things for one night,” Ratchet replied from near the stairs. “It’s not like we have any patients at the moment, either.”

“All right. Wing is staying somewhere fairly close, so just let me know if you need me to come back.”

Of course, Ratchet could just say he did need him and prevent him from going anywhere. But he couldn’t, in good conscience, deprive Drift of Wing’s company entirely. He still felt guilty about kicking the jet out during their last argument. And it wasn’t like this was the first time either. Things had been unsteady, at best, since they’d returned to the Dead End.

“See you in the morning,” Drift added as he hurried outside, closing and locking the door behind him.

Ratchet knew he wouldn’t be able to recharge properly without Drift next to him, so he made his way toward the administration room to catch up on some of the paperwork. They did _try_ to keep complete records on patients, but it could be hard to get mechs to give their names down here. They had to take time to consolidate their records every now and then, even if ‘business’ was dropping off a little thanks to the homeless shelter.

Just as he’d sat down at the desk, there was a knock at the front door. Had Drift forgotten something, or did someone just have incredibly bad timing? Grumbling to himself, Ratchet didn’t bother checking the security camera before opening the door. He was suddenly face-to-face with none other than Wing.

“Oh, uh, did Drift not say I was coming?” Wing asked once he’d recovered from his surprise, and the subsequent awkwardness. Drift was always the one to open the door when he knew Wing was coming, so he and Ratchet hadn’t really spoken since their last argument.

Ratchet had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t just bad communication on Drift’s part. _Drift…_ he commed.

_I’m not coming back until you’re best friends,_ was the immediate response.

_If you were planning to leave forever, you could have told me in advance,_ Ratchet replied sardonically.

When no reply other than something approximating an irritated sigh came through, Ratchet stepped aside. “You may as well come in, then. It looks like Drift is determined we have a reconciliation.”

Wing looked uncomfortable, but entered anyway. He followed Ratchet upstairs and into the room that held the energon dispenser. They sat awkwardly for some time, sipping at fuel every now and then.

“So, what was it you said to me? I focus too much on the small things?”

Wing glanced away, seeming to battle with himself. The knight generally avoided conflict, but that didn’t mean he took things lying down, either. “It just seems you spend more time focusing on the symptoms than the actual problem. Then you complain at me for having a wider view.”

“Well we can’t all run around proclaiming justice with ridiculous swords,” he muttered. He saw Wing was annoyed, and seemed to be closing off again, so hastily added something less sarcastic. “I only have one set of hands. My strength lies in working on individuals, and I’m good at thinking in the here and now, whether that be in the operating theatre or life in general.”

“But what if you lose somebody? Don’t you worry about what’s going to come next for them?”

“There is nothing ‘next for them’,” he muttered. “That pressure is very motivating. I can’t tell you the amount of ‘miracles’ I’ve pulled off that were just me not giving up, and keeping a clear processor.” He braced his head in his hands. “I’ve still seen more sparks go out than I care to remember.”

“I can understand the reason you hold your beliefs. But is it really so difficult to see why not everyone thinks the same way?”

“I suppose I see the fulfilment and satisfaction it can bring to believers. It’s just impossible for me to ignore how it’s also used as a political tool. And it’s no secret which people are more susceptible to its influence, and taking it at face value.” He couldn’t help but think of Drift here, and how well he lived up to his own name. But, if that was what provided him with stability…

“The poorly educated,” Wing replied solemnly. “But things don’t have to be that way. I’m not trying to impose myself on anyone. There’s plenty of cynical humour about how mechs don’t really find Primus until they’re on their deathbed, but it’s also when they’re most vulnerable. If it puts someone at ease, then why not?

“And anyway, faith means something,” he said, taking the sword off his back and laying it on the table between them. The hilt flared up a little at his mention of faith, then dimmed back to nothing when he removed his hand from it. “Touch it.”

Ratchet rolled his optics but humoured him. The sword made him uneasy. Not even his extensive medical programs could determine how it worked, how it took power from the spark.

Even Wing looked surprised when a soft glow rose from the hilt. “There, see? It acknowledges your faith in _something_.”

“Maybe it’s my belief that people will sort themselves out in their own time,” he muttered, quickly withdrawing his hand. His fingers tingled strangely. “If I just keep them going until they figure it out.”

Wing closed his hand over the sword and smiled softly.

“What?” Ratchet asked.

“You wouldn’t _believe_ me if I explained, but I think that’s exactly it.” He straightened, looking more like the mech that had first showed up on their doorstep months ago. “Drift has faith that we can build a better world, and I’m pleased that Blurr seems to share this vision so enthusiastically.”

“So that’s where you’ve been, in the homeless shelter?”

Wing nodded amiably. “People are beginning to realise that this is going to be a permanent fixture and have stopped trying to break in and steal fuel for their own stockpiles. I think the staff would be safe if I were to move back here, now.”

Ratchet nodded. “I… I shouldn’t have kicked you out like that.”

“Well, I’m glad things led to us having this discussion, in any event. Drift was right, even if he had to use an elaborate setup to get us in the same room long enough to have it.”

“Should I tell him it’s safe to come back?” Ratchet asked with a small smile. At Wing’s nod, he turned to the comms again. _We’re both still alive, you can come back now._

* * *

 

Drift left the clinic with some guilt in his spark. He didn’t want to be deceptive, but Rodimus had suggested this and he wasn’t sure what else to do. He disappeared into the shadows at the mouth of a nearby alleyway just in time to see Wing approach the door.

Well, it looked like there was no turning back now, either way.

He made his way down the alleyway just as Ratchet commed him. Drift spotted the recently returned red speedster and moved forward. He silently explained he wasn’t coming back until they’d sorted out their differences as he sat next to him on a rickety crate.

“I’ve gotta say Drift, you have excellent taste in meeting places.”

Drift rolled his optics and smacked his upper arm lightly. “Well, I would invite you inside, but Primus knows what those two are getting up to in there.” Rodimus snorted as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “So, are you going to stay on Cybertron now?”

Rodimus grimaced. “I don’t know why I even came back.”

“Why don’t we start with why you left?” Drift joked.

Rodimus wrinkled his nose again, making another of his exaggerated expressions. He was silent for a while before finally answering. “Megatron asked me to live with him. Can you believe that?”

Drift raised a brow at his exaggerated reaction toward something so simple. “And you’re the guy I’m taking relationship advice from?” Drift deadpanned. “What was I thinking?”

“Hey, solving other people’s problems is easy. Having some ex-murdering old man try to warm you up to the idea of being his conjunx is another story entirely!”

“Don’t you think you’re making just a _little_ bit of a mental leap there? Even if you’re right, well… If he’s anything like the mech I knew in the earliest stages of the war, then I’d say he’s sincerely changed his mind. At some point you take that step back and realise war isn’t what you wanted at all.”

Rodimus looked up at him as though seeing him for the first time. “Right, of course. I suppose you went through basically the same thing as him.”

Not wanting to have this conversation right now, Drift brought attention back to Rodimus’ issue. “It’s not like he’s proposing,” Drift muttered.

“Yeah, well, it’s still weird!” he protested.

“Then say no,” Drift replied evenly. “It’s not that difficult. Takes less effort than jettisoning across the universe, anyway.”

“It’s not that simple,” Rodimus muttered, ignoring the barb, but looking as though he wanted another change of topic now.

Drift reached out to make a comforting gesture, but ended up jumping slightly when a comm came through. _We’re both still alive, you can come back now._

“They sorted _that_ out much faster than I thought they would.”

“Hah, what’d I tell you!” Rodimus exclaimed, cockiness returning.

_Is Wing going to live with us again?_

_Yes, yes, we managed to talk instead of yell._

“If you do go off world again, let me know beforehand this time?” he implored as he stood.

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t run off in the middle of the night again,” he replied as he slung an arm around his shoulders, suddenly looking serious again. “Good luck with those two.”

“I’m going to need it,” Drift muttered.

* * *

 

_Will you come open the door? It’s locked._

It didn’t take Ratchet long to open it up for him. As soon as the door had closed and locked again behind them, Ratchet pushed him back up against it and covered his mouth with his own.

_You two didn’t just frag again, did you?_ Drift asked with some exasperation, but kissed back nonetheless.

Ratchet backed off slightly and shook his head. “No. I… I invited him to stay with us again,” he repeated.

“Don’t you think you should apologise as well?”

Ratchet looked a little guilty, but Drift knew he hated outright apologising for anything. He would always look for a way to just _do_ something to make up for it.

“It’s all right, Drift. We’ve come to an understanding,” Wing called from the top of the stairs.

Drift smiled and interlaced his fingers with Ratchet’s before dragging him over to the stairs and back up them. The light from the sitting room shined behind Wing, and his optics glowed in the shadows cast in front of him. Drift pulled him down for a kiss even as he squeezed Ratchet’s hand.

They somehow unanimously made their way to the berthroom instead of the sitting room, fumbling in the dim lighting while having to rely on the glow of optics and biolights. Wing was pushed to sit at the head of the berth while Ratchet sat on his knees in front of him and Drift settled behind him.

Drift pressed into his back encouragingly, and Ratchet leaned forward to press his lips against Wing’s. The jet accepted the medic’s touches, even cupping his face and pulling him closer.

“So, are you two going to stop fighting now?” Drift asked quietly as he absently stroked Ratchet’s pelvic unit.

They broke apart and glanced at each other before Wing answered. “We’re always going to be having disagreements, Drift. Our beliefs are fundamentally different. However, I promise I’ll stop storming out and making you worry.”

“And I promise to stop chasing him out with my yelling,” Ratchet added. “From now on, no more than twelve words at a time.”

Drift smacked the back of his helm lightly at the poor joke, feeling their roles had been reversed for a moment. He rested his hand on top of Wing’s, which was currently on Ratchet’s shoulder. “I just don’t want to feel like I have to choose. The thought actually terrifies me.” It was difficult to admit, but necessary, it seemed.

Ratchet and Wing shared a guilty look. “I’m sorry,” Wing murmured, “I haven’t been considerate of your feelings. It wasn’t always just Ratchet kicking me out, sometimes I leave due to irritation.”

“And I haven’t been putting enough effort in, either,” Ratchet admitted.

Drift was glad to hear their admissions, but words only meant so much. And Wing was already frowning at Ratchet’s apparent lack of proper apology, since he didn’t abide his stubbornness and pride. Drift had to make them understand somehow.

“I’m sure you two have a lot to teach each other, if only you’d listen. Why can’t you just take a step back, give it a chance? It’s not that hard…”

“And how would you suggest we begin?” Wing asked, the look on his face not entirely innocent.

Drift folded his arms but decided to humour him anyway. “Ratchet would apologise to you properly, first. I’m used to what he says instead of the words, but I know it’s important to you to hear it properly.”

Ratchet glanced over his shoulder, disgruntled, but Drift gave him an imploring look. He glanced down at the berth with a sigh before turning to Wing again. “I’m sorry for being a grumpy aft all the time, Wing. You make Drift happy, but I’m just making you both miserable when I snap.”

Wing brushed his thumb over his cheek gently. “Thank you for apologising in a way I understand. I forgive you.”

“And Wing, you need to understand that Ratchet uses sarcasm as a defensive mechanism and isn’t always trying to victimise someone. You need to spend time together that doesn’t involve angry fragging.”

Wing gave a small smile and rested his hands on Ratchet’s waist. “You hear that? Happy fragging only, from now on.”

Drift folded his arms the other way, mildly annoyed. But Wing, despite his teasing, seemed to like this game. “Just show him how you feel through touch, or something.”

He obediently laced the fingers of one hand with Ratchet’s, before leaning down to kiss him slowly and gently. Drift, despite his reluctance, couldn’t ignore the little thrill he got from seeing them do what he said, this time. His faceplate warmed when Wing’s knowing optics returned to him.

“Anything else, Drift?” he asked, taking his time to roll his glossa over his designation. When Drift failed to respond, he added, “Anything we can do to apologise to you?”

He glanced away, not quite confident with the dominating role he’d been given, however briefly. “You know what I like,” he replied.

Ratchet glanced back at him with a soft expression as Wing smiled. He’d said and done what he’d wanted to.

Ratchet shifted them both back so Wing could lay down, before getting Drift to lie on top of him, on his back. Wing wrapped his arms around him, giving him a tight and comforting hug. “Well isn’t this cosy?” His hands spread over his upper arms, reaching into joints and ventilation spaces.

Drift knew he was getting wet from the fleeting touches alone. His spark thrummed in his chassis as his venting cycles hitched. Ratchet leaned over and dragged a single finger down the transformation seams that let him reveal his spark.

They hadn’t touched each other like that since the night Drift had accepted his proposal. It was significant that he was thinking about it, if not yet outright asking for it, now. He glanced up at Wing when he felt him sit up slightly with interest. He knew exactly what Ratchet was doing as well.

“Drift?” Ratchet asked quietly. “May we?”

“Yes,” he whispered, “Primus, yes.”

Wing’s arms squeezed around him as he let his spark chamber be revealed. This was the first time he had bared himself in front of the knight. “Drift, I’m honoured,” he murmured by his audial as the bright light illuminated their faces in the otherwise dimly lit room.

“I love you, and I trust you,” he said. Words were as important to Wing as actions were to him, after all. He distantly felt his interfacing panel snap open as their hands slid to the centre of his chest. Ratchet was the first to slide a finger inside, sticking to the edge of his spark chamber for now.

Drift shuddered, hips and torso both trying to reach up for more. Energy from his spark danced across Ratchet’s hand and he shivered. He felt Wing struggle to reach down to his array without disturbing them. The brief window of awkwardness was worth it when he felt Wing’s spike fill him from behind.

Wing then returned his focus to his spark chamber, gently imitating Ratchet’s approach. Drift smiled, realising he didn’t know how to touch someone like this without hurting them. While the Circle of Light members tended to exercise their interfacing arrays more than most, intimacy like this was rare and deadly serious.

Ratchet’s finger finally passed through the surface layer of his spark. Drift cried out, clenching around the spike inside him. Wing moved his hips shallowly, trying to stimulate him further without throwing them all off. Drift let the pleasure wash over him, trusting them to keep a hold of him. Ratchet was saying something to Wing, but the meaning was getting lost somewhere between Drift’s audial and processor.

Ratchet’s finger continued moving slowly, even after his voice stopped. Another finger joined the first, and Drift knew it was Wing’s without having to look. He cried out again, arching into them, thankful this was one of those rare nights he didn’t have to try and be quiet. That was impossible when someone was fondling your spark, he was sure.

Wing’s finger curled inside him, reaching deeper. Drift threw his head back, mouth agape as the sensation exploded through every electrical line in his frame. Wing gasped beneath him when the charge reached his spike, still moving slowly inside him.

A laugh from Ratchet this time. ‘I warned you,’ was his best guess. Drift smiled shakily. His was body no longer interested in obeying him, only in seeking more of the intense pleasure.

Ratchet reached another finger inside him, this one going deeper into his spark. There was a difference of micrometres between intense pleasure and crippling pain here. But if anyone knew what they were doing, it had to be his conjunx.

As soon as Ratchet touched the centre of his spark, Drift’s his vocaliser shorted out as he arched up and offlined his optics. Wing cried out below him and Ratchet from above. They shuddered around him with the shared pleasure. Once the energy had snapped back around to him, their fingers withdrew from his spark ever so slowly.

When Drift had finally calmed enough to online his optics again, he gently closed his spark chamber off from the world again. He saw Ratchet’s hands were twitching against his chest, and could feel that Wing had come inside him.

“Are you all right, Drift? Your spark…” Wing murmured. Of course, the reason the Circle of Light didn’t do this between themselves was their fear that they’d weaken their spark and be unable to use their Great Swords properly when the time came.

“He’s fine,” Ratchet grumbled. “We made a circuit, not a one way conduit like those barbaric swords. Everything is back where it belongs, even if it’ll take a while to settle.”

“And you say what I do is dangerous,” Wing muttered.

Drift cleared his intake.

“This isn’t arguing, it’s banter,” Ratchet said a little too quickly.

He felt Wing shaking with laughter beneath him. “Yeah, what he said.”

Drift leaned back with a faint smile. “You weren’t supposed to start ganging up on me!”

“Oh no, what have you done?” Wing teased as he turned them onto their sides and withdrew his spike.

“I’ve created a monster,” Drift despaired as Ratchet lay down on his other side. He relaxed into their combined embrace.

“Luckily, the monster loves you dearly,” Ratchet murmured.

Drift sighed contentedly before slipping into recharge so his spark could realign itself. Its warmth buzzed through his entire frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: 25/03/16  
> omg I totally forgot to post this little comic as part of this fic. I dub thee _Ratchet: This is My Life Now._
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**Author's Note:**

> SERIES NOTES  
> 'Part 2' of this series is basically Blurr/Swindle porn and not important to the overarching plot, so feel free to ignore if you're not into that.


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